


adaption

by fruti2flutie



Category: GOT7, Tokyo Ghoul, VIXX, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi, Tokyo Ghoul AU, aka an experiment in angst & tragedy, also maybe feels maybe, minor character death probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:58:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 66,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3795853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruti2flutie/pseuds/fruti2flutie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pulled from a group where he can no longer fit in and pushed into a world where he doesn't belong, Kim Taehyung comes to realize that humans aren't the only ones with heartbeats and things to fight for. Seokjin, the owner of his favorite cafe, and Jungkook, the snarky waiter, make sure he doesn't trip along his path to acceptance, while Yoongi fastens a blindfold and mask tightly across his face. Namjoon and Hoseok are stuck living their own story, and Jimin just wants to be there for his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. reaching

**Author's Note:**

> an ongoing story that is posted on [tumblr](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/tagged/adaption), then cross posted here?? yeah?? basically inspired by [this fanart](http://taeyhngs.tumblr.com/post/103827856724/crazy-things-happen-when-i-have-nothing-to-do-and) by taeyhngs!!! 
> 
> (this ch. originally uploaded 12/24/2014)

This world, Taehyung knows, is dominated by two superior species: humans and ghouls. They are represented as the good and the evil, the light and the darkness, the hope and the despair. That’s what all the kids at school tell him, anyway. Taehyung, the reasonable young lad, doesn’t feel the need to question it.

For the longest time, Taehyung had only known the basic and essential fact: ghouls devour humans to survive. Recently, though, Taehyung’s best friend Jimin has found a new interest that has him learning more than he has intended for himself – especially when Jimin can go on about it at any time of the day.

In the middle of McDonalds, where the duo has stopped for an after school snack, Jimin finds it entirely necessary to explain the digestion patterns of ghouls as they settle at a table near the back of the vicinity.

“So they can’t eat any food?” Taehyung asks, frowning at the silver wrapper of his burger.

Jimin shakes his head as he cheerily stuffs a handful of fries into his mouth. “There’s one exception, but in general, not any human food,” he says. “If they tried to, they’d probably throw it up on the spot. Their taste buds aren’t wired like humans’.”

Taehyung wrinkles his nose. “What if they _did_ eat it? Swallowed it and everything?” he asks, tentatively taking a bite out of his Big Mac. It’s a little too greasy for his taste, but Taehyung is hungry and willing to compromise.

“Imagine yourself… swallowing a penny,” Jimin begins, brows creased in concentration.

“Gross. Why would I ever do that? Pennies do not belong in tummies.”

Jimin shoots a finger at Taehyung, eyes lighting up. “Exactly! Compare that logic with ghouls and human food! It _doesn’t_ belong. It messes them up, weakens their physical state! That’s why their bodies try to expel it as quick as it can!” he explains animatedly. “I’m speaking hypothetically, by the way; don’t swallow any spare change.”

“I would never,” Taehyung murmurs. Another bite from his burger and Taehyung asks another question. “They just live off of humans? Every day? Wouldn’t that make the human population of Seoul plummet?”

“You’re pretty wrong, my uninformed friend. On everything you said,” Jimin declares arrogantly. “For instance, ghouls can survive for months on a single body, so they wouldn’t need to go murdering people willy-nilly. Except for those despicable Binge Eaters, who kill and eat nearly dozens at a time. Basically serial killers – ghoul versions.”

Taehyung shudders involuntarily. “So I’m wrong on the ‘every day’ thing,” he says, practically pouting. “What else am I wrong about?”

“The population!” Jimin exclaims, banging a fist on the table. “If lots of ghouls tried to murder humans, the population wouldn’t _plummet_.” He leans back in his chair, tilting his head. “I mean, sure it would go _down_ , but… The CCG would ramp up production before it could _plummet_ , if you get what I’m sayin’.”

The CCG is a common term amongst the people – the Commission of Counter Ghoul. In short, it’s the organization that deals with ghouls and ghoul suspects. There are the ghoul investigators that do the outside work, and there are the bureau investigators that are behind the desks. Although the details are extremely classified, the CCG never fails to assure the citizens that they are dispelling ghouls as best they can to ensure the safety of humans.

“Oh, and the most interesting of all?” Jimin continues, growing quieter. “That one food exception I said earlier? Ghouls can drink _coffee_ just fine. Of all things! How weird, right?”

Taehyung sips from his McCafe, letting the sweet taste of whipped cream paired with the bitter sensation of the coffee go down his throat. “Coffee _is_ really good,” he hums. “I think that’s good for them.”

Jimin laughs. “Are you going to become a ghoul sympathizer, Tae?” he jokes, fingers drumming on the tabletop. “Those guys get beat up on the regular, man.”

Shrugging innocently, Taehyung takes another gulp from his drink.

–

University life has become stressful for Taehyung. At this point, two years in, he still has no idea what he’s going to major in. Jimin is right on track with his soon-to-be musical career, taking a load of music theory and choir classes. Taehyung is still on the basic courses this fall, and for next spring semester his classes are yet to be chosen.

On his way home to his apartment, Taehyung flips through the course catalog, aiming to find something eye-catching. After several collisions with strangers, Taehyung realizes reading and walking isn’t as good of an idea like he had thought. He finds a building to the side of the road, presumably a cafe with its foreign-style decorations, and heads inside.

The strong scent of roasted coffee beans hits him at once. He heads to the bar-like counter, sitting on one of the swivel chairs and hooking his messenger bag off the back of the seat. He smiles widely at the first employee he sees – a young male with maroon-colored hair and three piercings on each ear.

“Welcome to Cypher,” the worker says, offering him a menu. (He’s awfully unenthusiastic for a person whose uniform has a bowtie, Taehyung thinks.) “How may I help you?”

Taehyung forgoes the menu in his hands and asks, smiling, “What’s your name?”

The worker frowns. “I’m not an option,” he responds derisively.

“I don’t want to eat you,” Taehyung blubbers. “I only want to know what to call you.”

“It’s rude to ask for someone’s name without introducing yourself first,” the worker sighs, rolling his eyes as he pulls out a small cup.

“I’m Kim Taehyung, and I attend the university a few blocks down from here,” he says. “I like puppies, eating meat, and anime. I have AB blood and I don’t have any allergies, not that I know of. My favorite movie is–”

“Don’t give me your whole life story,” the worker sneers, annoyed. “Just your order will do.”

Taehyung purses his lips. “Latte,” he says, mood dampened. “Lots of froth.”

“Coming right up.” While brewing Taehyung’s coffee at the machine, just barely in front of Taehyung, the worker glances up at his face. “My name is Jungkook,” he mutters, almost inaudibly. “We don’t have nametags here.”

“That’s a shame,” Taehyung mumbles. “What if someone wants to remember you?”

Jungkook blinks at him, obviously taken aback by the question. “I’m not the type for that kind of thing,” he admits. He pours Taehyung his latte, covering the surface with nearly two inches of froth.

Taehyung holds his cup by his mouth, lips rested on the rim. “What are you the type for?” he asks plainly, right before he cautiously sips at his latte.

“Who knows,” murmurs Jungkook. He doesn’t utter another word until Taehyung is practically done with his drink. “Why’d you wander in here, anyway?” he asks. “Don’t you have places to be? A life to get to?”

Taehyung chuckles, embarrassed, gaze drifting to his lap. “I was going to pick some courses for next semester,” he admits, glancing at the window. He gasps loudly when he notices the sun is starting to set.

Jungkook stares warily at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I have to get going!” Taehyung exclaims. “Time really has flown by!” He scrambles for his wallet, scrounging up a handful bills from his back pockets.

“That might be too much,” Jungkook tells him frankly, staring down at the crumpled currency.

Taehyung grins as he puts his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll be back again to get my change!” he promises, heading out the door. “Don’t forget me!”

The train leaves around 6 p.m., and Taehyung can’t afford to miss it – the next one is at 8 p.m., way too late for him. He runs as fast as his legs can carry him, narrowly avoiding knocking other pedestrians over. There’s a red light, which makes Taehyung halt and urge him to check his watch.

 _5:56_. Taehyung bites his bottom lip. There aren’t any cars around; the station is just a couple blocks away…

He bolts forward, internally apologizing to his mother who had taught him to obey the traffic laws at all times. There must be some kind of karma or something on him, because right then a young woman comes crashing into him, knocking them both onto the ground.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammers, supporting himself on his arms.

The woman shakes her head, rimmed glasses having fallen off her face. “It was my fault,” she proclaims, with a nervous laugh. 

Taehyung is about to offer her a hand to help her up when a bright light shines to his side, illuminating the woman’s terror-stricken face. Taehyung hears a long honk, loud and unpleasant, before the high-pitched ringing.


	2. g'morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cue snarky waiter at taehyung’s favorite cafe telling him, “you must be part alien.” and, maybe, he’s onto something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this ch. originally posted 01/04/2015)

She had long hair. Black? Blonde? Brunette? No, it was something completely fluorescent... Blue. Taehyung remembers electric blue strands pulled into a high ponytail. Her eyes... Her eyes must have been dark brown, the exact color of the coffee Taehyung had earlier that day. He recalls black-rimmed glasses, but he doesn't remember her wearing them. Were they on the floor? Did she drop them? No, they were knocked off her... By him? Yeah, by him.

Where is he, again?

Taehyung's eyes flutter open, a mass of blurred objects coming into his vision. As everything comes into focus, it becomes clear that he's in a hospital room, tucked in a hospital bed. He takes in his surroundings -- a fogged over windowpane, an iPod playing soft jazz, an overhead television, a stack of books with _GHOUL_ labeled on the spines, a tall can of off-brand coffee. To his side, in the corner of his eye, there's movement. Someone is removing his IV bag, refilling it.

"Hello?" he speaks up, voice scratchy.

The person shifts his gaze to Taehyung. "You're up, _finally_ ," he says with a tinge of annoyance. The white lab coat he wears reminds Taehyung more of a scientist rather than someone in the medical field.

"So... I've been asleep?" Taehyung guesses unsurely.

Dr. Shim (which Taehyung gets from the bronze nameplate pinned to his coat) crosses his arms, staring down at Taehyung with his head cocked to the side. "Technically speaking, you've been in a coma. Unconscious. K.O'ed. That whole ordeal."

Taehyung blinks, clueless, until the gears mechanically click in his brain. "Whoa," he blurts. "Whoa, whoa, _whoa, whoa, whoa_."

"Is that your new language? Attempting to ask me what happened? I'll assume it is." Dr. Shim sits on the bedside, lips pursed. "So, the short version is--"

"I want the long version," interrupts Taehyung hurriedly, lunging forward to cling onto Dr. Shim's sleeve.

The doctor groans loudly as his head lops to the side. " _Fine_ ," he huffs. "On November 17th, at approximately six p.m., Kim Taehyung and Park Bom were involved in a fatal car accident. A three-ton cargo truck, colored green, ran a red light--"

"Park Bom?" Taehyung repeats, full of concern. "That was her name? Is she okay? Is she worse than me?"

"Well, you _could_ put it that way..." Dr. Shim chuckles, scratching his neck. He clears his throat, straightening up. "Park Bom was killed on impact. Nearly tore up her body, but thankfully most of her was intact when the ambulances came."

The way Dr. Shim tells that to him, with a hint of amusement, gives Taehyung goose bumps. "Then... Then what happened to me?" he asks cautiously, hands fisting the sheets.

"You? You got messed up," Dr. Shim proclaims nonchalantly. "Obviously, you got hit by the same truck. Didn't get as messed up as Ms. Bom, but still. A handful of bones were broken, a couple of your internal organs were damaged -- only one was actually ruptured, though. The liver. We were able to have an emergency transplant from Ms. Bom. You should be thankful that's all that happened to you." He laughs as he continues, "She had the same blood type as you, an AB! What a lucky coincidence, on your part."

Taehyung swallows thickly, wiggling his fingers and toes. He now notices there are casts on his right arm and right leg, a thick bandage running across his torso. "How long have I been out?"

"Today marks a whole week," Dr. Shim declares. He walks over to the window, peering down below. "Congrats," he says dully. "You managed not to die."

"It's nearly December!" Taehyung exclaims, distressed, free hand curling into his hair. "How am I going to buy Christmas presents for--"

"Taehyung!" a familiar voice shouts. The one and only Park Jimin, certified best friend of Kim Taehyung, stands in the doorway, eyes wide. He's sloppily kept -- hair naturally tangled and dressed in wrinkled sweats. The unopened bag of gummy worms in Jimin's hands shakes as he holds back tears.

"Jimin," Taehyung blubbers, bottom lip wobbling. "Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, I was in a _coma_."

"I know, you idiot! I know! I need to hug the shit out of you for doing that!" Jimin runs over and pulls Taehyung into his arms, forgetting entirely about the injuries his best friend harbors. "Don't scare me like that! I was so scared!"

"It wasn't my fault! I didn't mean to be unconscious for this long!" Taehyung wails. He is definitely crying into Jimin's sweatshirt, but that's okay because Jimin is definitely getting tears all over his hospital gown.

"Everything is okay now," Jimin declares, chuckling and smiling. "Everything's okay." He sniffles and rubs at his nose. "Everything's okay. And I have gummy worms, which makes it even okay-er."

Taehyung grins, taking the green-and-red worm offered to him into his mouth. Except... It tastes absolutely _awful_. The texture is the equivalent to that of raw ground meat, crystallized sugar sticking to his tongue like gravel. Taehyung vomits it out immediately; Jimin rushes to grab a trashcan to hold out in front of him.

"You're the best," Taehyung murmurs gruffly.

"Don't thank me just yet. Get everything out of your system first," Jimin says as he rubs at Taehyung's back.

Dr. Shim, who the two had momentarily overlooked, comes by to clap Jimin on the shoulder. "I think it'd be best you left," he says sullenly. "He just woke up, and as you can tell his condition isn't at its best. He needs rest."

"Oh." Jimin leaves the trashcan on Taehyung's lap, giving his friend a look of concern.

"I'll be fine," assures Taehyung, grip loose around the wastebasket. "You have finals coming up, don't you? Go and study for them! I won't need to study for mine... At least, I don't think."

"Tae," Jimin sighs. "I have to make sure you're eating right, sleeping easy, recovering well..."

"You worry too much about me! I'm strong!" Taehyung makes a face as he tries to flex his biceps (and fails). "After I get out of the hospital, we can celebrate together! How does Christmas sound? Or New Year's Eve?"

Jimin puts on a tiny smile, knocking Taehyung lightly on the forehead. "Your _birthday_ , maybe?" he suggests. "December 30th. Don't tell me you forgot!"

Taehyung twists his lips. "It slipped my mind," he insists. (But he really _did_ forget about it, this instance marking the third time since middle school. Later, he'll blame it on medication.) "Doc, I'll be out by then, right?"

Dr. Shim shrugs. "Depends on how you heal," he states. "But, most likely, yes. Probably before that, even."

"Okay! See you later, Jimin!" Taehyung says, shooing his friend away.

Jimin pouts, reluctant to leave. "I'm going to text you!" he promises as he packs up his things. "And call you, too, when I can!"

"Yeah, yeah. Just go! See you on my birthday!"

\--

The first spoonful of jello into Taehyung's mouth doesn't make it past his tongue. He's at the trashcan in seconds, emptying out his already empty stomach.

Taehyung doesn't understand what's _wrong_ with him. Almost a month has gone by since he woke from his coma. All his bones have mended, much quicker than he had expected (but who is he to complain?). Physical therapy inside the lower levels of the hospital are tedious, because Taehyung can perform tasks with little struggle. When it comes to moving and exercising, he's doing fantastic. But Taehyung still has a big issue.

Food. There's something about the hospital food that Taehyung can't stomach. If not that, Taehyung's taste buds must have been rewired abnormally during the organ transplant. He really has no idea. The only times where he's gotten to eat decently are when Dr. Jung -- the complementary doctor to Dr. Shim, who is much brighter and less sarcastic -- brings him special medicated meals, served on pristine plastic plates. Taehyung had asked him once, about the problem, but Dr. Jung assured him he would be fine soon enough.

Taehyung doesn't know when "soon enough" will be, but tomorrow he's going to be discharged. Soon enough, he thinks, must occur then!

\--

Dr. Jung delicately smoothes down his tie. "How are you feeling?" he asks graciously.

"Terrific!" Taehyung responds. "I can feel my toes again!"

"You couldn't feel them in the first place?" Dr. Shim scowls.

"It's a metaphor!"

Dr. Shim scowls even harder. "That is not how a metaphor works, little demon." He hesitantly pats Taehyung on the head. "How will you survive in the real world?" he wonders aloud curiously, a statement more directed to the other doctor rather than the patient.

"Call us if you experience any major problems," Dr. Jung proclaims. "In other words, you're now free to leave the hospital, officially discharged. Congratulations, Kim Taehyung."

"Get out of here, you brat," Dr. Shim says playfully.

Taehyung salutes with his healed right arm, grinning happily. "With pleasure, doctors," he chuckles.

The ride back to his apartment -- via taxi, because Taehyung doesn't trust himself to roam the streets -- is an unnecessarily nostalgic one. He stares at the crosswalk where the accident had occurred, imagining how the scene may have played out. He has small crescent indents in his palms by the time they pass it, reaching his home. Taehyung bids his thanks to the driver, tips him accordingly, and steps out of the cab.

He heads to his mailbox first, opening up his compartment with a beat of hesitation. There's a large stack of mail (of course. Taehyung has been gone for nearly a month and a half!) and a small package atop it all. Taehyung picks up the package first, noting that there's an envelope attached to it. Opening it, he discovers it's a card -- a large bandage sticker on the inside, cartoon hearts placed everywhere. Placed in the largest heart is a message in blue ink.

_my ol' buddy taehyung! u got outta the hospital! i'm going to keep my promise & not visit u just yet. i have to wait til ur bday, ok ok.. but! i can still gift u for getting back home in one piece! hehe, i stopped by the store just b4 dance practice to get u this! txt me when u open it~ XOXO jimin_

"How sweet," Taehyung murmurs to himself. He tucks the box under his arm and grabs the mail, taking it all with him as he heads up the stairs to his front door.

Taehyung's apartment is just as he left it -- messy, cold, with a flickering kitchen light he should probably replace. The petite cactus plant that grows at his bedside sprouted a fuchsia flower while he's been gone. He stops to take a picture, to later send to Jimin. Taehyung puts the package on his low table, sits down, and proceeds to open it.

It's a cup of ramen, shrimp flavored, as well as a bright yellow book titled _Ghouls for Dummies_. After sending Jimin a cheerful text of gratitude, holding down laughter, Taehyung goes to the kitchen to heat up some water for his noodles, pouring it in the cup on the table and leaving it to cook. He turns on the television, flipping through the channels for a few minutes, until he stumbles upon the ever popular Ghoul Network -- a channel solely based on, evidently, ghouls. Right now, there's an interview with... with a _ghoul_?

Kwon Jiyong, a trendsetter-like _ghoul_ who poses no harm to society (the host introduces), proceeds to tell the audience about ghouls' biological make-up that makes it impossible to break down human food. Taehyung has heard this before, from Jimin, so he moves his focus to his ramen.

Taehyung taps his chopsticks together and scoops up the noodles into his mouth. He gags midway, because it's like chewing on soggy shoelaces that were soaked in the mud, lukewarm water still soaked in the cloth. Sprinting to the bathroom, he collapses on the toilet and hurls what got past his esophagus. The television, as it seems, continues playing.

" _It's not just that we_ can't _digest human food_ ," Kwon Jiyong goes on. " _Our taste buds make human food taste like the most horrible thing imaginable. Completely foul. You don't even want to imagine it_."

Frown set deep on his face, Taehyung grasps the rim of the toilet bowl to hoist himself up. He shuffles to the kitchen, barefoot steps uncertain, and pulls open the door of his fridge. On the shelf, there's a square of cheese wrapped in aluminum foil. Taehyung takes a bite.

He runs straight to the bathroom.

Taehyung heads back to the fridge, faster, and grabs a shining red apple to bite.

He runs back to the bathroom.

This time, Taehyung crawls on his hands and knees to the kitchen. He takes out all the food from the fridge and checks all the expiration dates, holding his arm over his stomach. Everything is still good. Back on the table, by his lone ramen, his phone vibrates -- Taehyung goes to check it.

_have u finished ur food yet??_

Taehyung takes an unsteady breath. In an abrupt fit of frustration, he dumps every single food item into the garbage, sparing nothing in sight. He flicks off the TV, turns down the lights, and throws himself under his bed sheets.

Sleep doesn't come easy.

\--

It smells like lavender. Taehyung loves the smell of lavender, a subtle scent that gives off freshness like no other can. In dreams, ever since the accident, he'll smell lavender.

Of course it's a dream. It has to be. The dead girl is here with him, the two of them standing in an infinite meadow, painted shades of green from growing grass. A gentle breeze blows through Taehyung's hair.

The girl smiles at him, taking a step toward him. "I never got to properly introduce myself," she says. She doesn't have glasses on, and her long blue hair falls flat over her shoulders. "My name is Bom." Another step. "Who are you?" she asks sweetly.

"I'm Taehyung," he replies, almost lost in the wind.

She's close enough to trace the line of Taehyung's jaw with her slender fingertips, stopping at his chin. "What a lovely name." Bom smiles again, before leaning in to latch her teeth into Taehyung's shoulder.

\--

Gasping for air. Heart racing. Chills running down his spine. Taehyung bolts upright, grasping at the front of his shirt. Bad dream. Bad dream. Bad dream. A nightmare, nightmare, nightmare--

Something smells good. Really, _really_ good. Something smells like sizzling beef on a grill, bathed in exotic spices, marinated in sweet and savory sauce. When's the last time Taehyung smelled something this mouth-watering?

Taehyung gets out of bed, barely registering the fact he needs shoes and a jacket before heading out the door, where the outside air is brittle against his delicate skin. It must be around midnight, maybe even later. From out here, Taehyung can smell it better. He does his best to follow the scent, to where it gets stronger and stronger, until he reaches an alleyway -- a dead-end.

That doesn't make any sense. _This_ is where the scent the smell is the strongest; Taehyung can practically feel the stray oil burning his hand as he reaches onto the grill for a piece of meat. After he scans the area, Taehyung discovers that there's something on the ground. Once he goes closer to see, he stifles a scream.

It's a body. A bruised, battered, and bloody _body_. So much so that Taehyung can't even make out a face, if they _have_ a face. But this... this _smell_. Oh god, that fantastic smell is _coming from the body_. Oh god, what the fuck, is he _drooling_ \--

"Hey, man, do you want some?"

Taehyung inhales sharply after hearing the sudden voice behind him. "W-What?" he stutters, not having the courage to turn and look.

"I called dibs, but I guess it doesn't count because no one was around. I left to get a take-out bag, but I'm willing to share. I don't mind much. Take what you want before I pack 'em up."

The owner of the voice whirls in front of Taehyung, giving a lopsided smile, dark and messy strands of hair falling in front of his eyes. His eyes. The whites are black, the pupils colored red. Those are the eyes on the covers of warning signs, caution posters. Those are the shining eyes of the ghouls'.

Taehyung frantically attempts to back away but trips over his feet, crashing to the ground. "Please, don't eat me!" he pleads, shielding his face with his arms.

The ghoul makes a face of confusion, opening up the zipper of his -- oh god -- body bag. "Why would I do that?" he asks in disbelief. He casually strides towards the lifeless body, squats on his heels, and takes hold of the wrist. The ghoul effortlessly breaks a finger off, blood dripping, and puts it in his mouth. He chews. "None of the folks around here are into cannibalism."

Cannibalism. Defined as a member of one species eating the flesh of the same species. Taehyung is, has always been a _human_. Ghouls are ghouls. Humans are humans. _Different_ species.

"You're a g-ghoul," Taehyung stammers, breaths coming out shallow.

The ghoul's expression morphs into one of amusement. He shows a toothy grin, gums stained crimson with blood. "Yeah? So what? You're one, too." His unsettling grin grows wider as he begins to stuff the body into the black bag.

"I'm not..." Taehyung clenches his fist, looking away.

"You're not what? A ghoul?" the other asks mockingly. "Yeah, right. So does that make you some 'lil human interested in dead bodies, then? That's pretty sick."

Taehyung doesn't know how to respond. He's gone silent, speechless. He wants to vomit, but he has nothing left in his stomach to do so. Taehyung only sees one option in this situation. He spins on his heels and runs straight home, praying to God that that ghoul won't follow. Taehyung has no clue if the ghoul actually does; he never looks back.


	3. tremble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cue snarky waiter at taehyung’s favorite cafe telling him, “you must be part alien.” and, maybe, he’s onto something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this ch. originally posted 01/25/2015)

Today is Christmas Eve. There's a cup of water on the table, atop a Pikachu coaster, beside the opened _Ghouls for Dummies_ book. Taehyung is wrapped completely in his covers, carefully skimming the pages. He doesn't know what he's actually looking for. There are an abundance of pictures in the RC cells section so Taehyung stops there, reading the small captions under the photos.

A single eye of a ghoul, the colors of black and red intense on the page. _A ghoul can enter a state where their eyes become "shining" if they become excited or activate one of their special abilities. The pupil of the eyes turns red and the sclera black._

Taehyung instinctively touches the skin under his eyes. The phone rings from his bed, and Taehyung flinches. That has to be Jimin. It's been Jimin for the last two hours. Taehyung lets it go to voicemail, making it the ninth call he's missed. He doesn't think he can talk coherently to anyone right now.

Suddenly, his stomach growls; Taehyung clenches his teeth. He's so, so, so _hungry_. What else does this book say ghouls can eat?

Wait, no. No. No, no, no, no, _no_ \--

Taehyung fumbles with the book and flings it across the room, where it lands a few feet from the trash. He's _not_ a ghoul, how could he even think of trying to...

Taehyung needs coffee; he's not awake enough for this. Searching through the cupboards, Taehyung finds no sign of his container of coffee mix. It only occurs to him after ten minutes of looking that he tossed everything out -- including his beloved coffee. His stomach growls again, more insistent, and Taehyung feels irritated.

He needs to have _something_. Maybe he can go to Cypher. They have good coffee. A small amount of people. Taehyung pulls on his coat, slips a pair of gloves onto his hands, and tugs on his boots. He stuffs his keys and wallet into his pocket, shuffling out the door. There's a slight crunch on the ground, under his foot, when he walks out... It snowed.

\--

A bell jingles above Taehyung's head as he walks through the door. Huh. Was that always there? The intense smell of coffee hits his senses, and he feels the small weight gradually lift from his chest.

"Welcome to Cypher-- Oh, it's you again."

Taehyung finds himself blushing as he peels off his coat and gloves. He chooses to sit at a table this time, mostly because he wants to feel his feet planted on the ground. "I'm back," he announces, the words sounding strangely intimate. No one else is in the shop save for them two.

Jungkook walks by, not dressed in his uniform but in a baggy hoodie, a pair of red Skullcandy headphones wrapped around his neck, and sweatpants. "What's the order?"

"Cafe latte," Taehyung replies, folding his arms over the table to lay his head down.

It doesn't take very long for Jungkook to make it; he disappears for three whole minutes before he slides the pale mug onto the table. "Fresh and hot," he warns. "Hey, it's Christmas Eve. Shouldn't you be with friends and family or something?

Taehyung smiles cheekily. "Why do you ask me stuff like that? Are you trying to get rid of me?"

Jungkook sneers at him, "No, that's just what normal people do."

"If you say that..." Taehyung wraps both his hands around the cup, warming his fingers. "I must not be normal! I think... _normal_ is overrated anyway." He stares down at his drink, nervous, and anxiously takes a small sip. Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, Taehyung can almost feel himself on the verge of tears. It tastes delicious.

Jungkook scrutinizes him. "You must be part alien," he says. "You're so weird."

Taehyung thinks the idea over in his head, to be part _alien_. Maybe, just maybe, Jungkook is onto something. "I think that'd be strange for me," he says. "What part of me would be alien?"

"Your brain," Jungkook responds, leaning against the table. "Obviously."

In the pocket of his jeans, Taehyung feels his phone vibrate. He pulls it out, seeing that it's once again Jimin. Taehyung has regained a bit of confidence to finally answer, "Hello?"

" _You! You! Kim Taehyung, you bastard! I've called you-- This my twentieth-- God, damn, what the hell, Taehyung!? I thought you were in trouble or something! You didn't even reply to my good morning text today! I could've professed my love to you in that, did you even_ see _it!? Mother of Christ, Taehyung..._ "

Jungkook hides a smirk behind his hand; it's _really_ easy to hear Jimin's voice echo from the phone. "I think you should interrupt him," he whispers to Taehyung. "He's not going to stop until you do."

Taehyung nods his head. "Jimin, I'm sorry, really," he says sheepishly. "I've been feeling down ever since I left the hospital." Out of the corner of his eye, Taehyung sees Jungkook's eyebrows crease. "Jimin, I swear I'll still meet up with you for my birthday!"

Jimin responds with annoyed, garbled noises. " _How are you going to be during Christmas_?" he asks, voice lowered down to an appropriate volume. " _Do you want me to stay with you? I will, if you want._ "

Unlike Taehyung, Jimin has a loving family back in Busan. Aunts, uncles, brothers, cousins -- faces and names that Jimin can always tell apart. Taehyung can't intrude on that. He'll disrupt the flow of things, with his tragic back story that no one will talk about but everyone will know. Jimin would be better off by himself.

"No, you go back home," Taehyung replies. He shyly peeks up at Jungkook. "I found company."

" _You little ass! Okay, fine, whatever. I'll bring back some food from the house, then! My mom will pester me if I don't... I'm leaving tomorrow morning, okay? Don't miss me too much!_ "

The call ends, and Taehyung feels his stomach lurch. He silently drinks his latte, trying to memorize the aromatic taste.

\--

When Taehyung opens his eyes, there is barely any light coming from outside his window. The thing that woke him up was his cell phone near the pillow on his bed, ringing incessantly. Of course it would be Jimin, screaming _Merry Christmas_ way too early with young voices in the background.

Through his drowsiness, Taehyung hears Jimin say something that sounds like, " _Check your mailbox! I left a present before I left!_ " Taehyung, in the back of his mind, hopes it's not food.

By noontime -- when Taehyung re-wakes up, because he drifted back to sleep after Jimin's call --he decides he should check his mailbox. What if Jimin put a puppy in there? That would be bad for everyone. Taehyung doesn't know how to take care of animals, but then again Jimin would never entrust Taehyung with something that breathes.

Wrapping himself in his coat, Taehyung hops outside and down the steps to visit his mailbox. Along with a small stack of mail, there's a pure white scarf and blue, medium-sized container. Taehyung pulls the gifts out and laughs when he realizes that the container is actually instant coffee mix.

He feels his heart swell, smiling wide. As he heads back up to his apartment, Taehyung sloppily texts _thank u~_ to his best friend. Jimin responds instantly with a copious amount of hearts and emojis.

Normally, on Jimin-less Christmases, Taehyung goes on a classic Christmas movies marathon with a bowl of extra buttered popcorn. This time, he forgoes the movie snack and brews himself a steaming cup of coffee. Snuggling into his blanket, he holds his hot drink close and starts the TV.

All too quickly, Taehyung's coffee supply dwindles low. The instant mix container that had been filled to the brim just a few hours ago is practically empty. Taehyung panics -- what will he tell Jimin? That was _a lot_ of coffee!

Taehyung feels and hears his stomach growl. Making a face as he pulls on his coat and new scarf, he heads outside in the direction of Cypher -- the place that he seems to go when he has problems (and, there, they usually get solved). Hopefully they're still open and willing to serve Taehyung an Americano, which he really is craving now.

As expected, the streets of Seoul are fairly empty. It's unnaturally quiet, but Taehyung whistles a tune to fill the silence in the air, his footsteps becoming a steady beat. In the distance, he spots someone in an alley, shivering so intensely that Taehyung can see from this far away. A homeless person, perhaps?

Without a second thought, Taehyung hurries over to them, eager to offer his assistance. "Are you okay? Do you need a blanket? Any money? Food?"

The man is dressed in a dark duffle coat and fingertip-less gloves, exposed skin shriveling in the cold air. He looks up at Taehyung, showing off his elderly age and tired eyes. Despite that, the old man does a loose smile, whispering softly, " _Yes_."

At the next moment Taehyung finds himself thrown backwards by a burly arm, hitting the adjacent wall and crumpling to the ground. Alarmed and confused, Taehyung looks back at where the old man once sat and sees him standing tall, a wicked grin spread on his face.

Those _eyes_.

There's a sickening sound, indescribable with simpleton words, as a long maroon object appears behind the old man-- No, not appears. It's _connected_ , coming out from the small of his back, blood red and whipping like the tail of a fox--

He's a ghoul. That tail-- That tail is the blood that he willingly controls, manipulates however he pleases. This is terrifying, because _that_ is the blood he's going to use to kill Taehyung.

Taehyung desperately runs farther down the alley, hands slipping on the fallen snow and frozen ice until he's able to stagger to his feet. He doesn't make it far -- he stops at a dead end, nothing but solid concrete blocking his path. Throwing a backwards glance at the old man, seeing him slowly coming closer to him, Taehyung helplessly bangs his fist on the wall, painfully drawing blood that only seems to rile the ghoul further.

This is the end for Taehyung. Stuck with no way out, about to be devoured by a heartless ghoul--

" _Or you can fight_."

The faint touch of slender arms on his, a sweet voice ringing behind his ear.

" _I'm with you, no need to be afraid, Taehyung. Come on, let's play!_ "

A boiling, burning, _hot_ sensation suddenly rushes to Taehyung's back, and he doesn't even register it until after three familiarly colored tentacles lodge themselves straight into the ghoul's chest, anchoring at the center. The ghoul silently screams, too frenzied to make a sound, and fumbles with his hands, trying to remove the tentacle in his chest but to no avail.

The ghoul isn't dead, somehow, and sucks in air with short breaths. He struggles and squirms, coughing up blood and coloring the white snow red. "W-W-W-What--" he stutters, strained, eyes squeezed shut.

Taehyung has gone rigid. These tentacles... He stares at them, tracing them back to their source... These three have come from _him_. But that's not all. There are three more that are idle at his side, hovering in the air as if waiting to finish off this trapped ghoul. Taehyung stumbles back, and the tentacles immediately release themselves from the ghoul's body, leaving him gasping and defenseless on the ground.

"W-What..." the ghoul chokes out, staring up at Taehyung's face. The redness of his pupils wavers as he sputters, "O-One... o-one eye...?"

That feeling is there again -- a chilling sensation that doesn't come from the winter weather. Taehung turns his head and sees her.

Park Bom. Smiling. Laughing. She slinks onto his shoulder and hums, " _You're doing so good, Taehyung. Such a good boy. Now we finish him_."

Taehyung nods thoughtlessly as he steps forward, feet right in front of the ghoul's head. He can feel the tentacles morphing into hardness once again, almost like blades of a butcher's knife. His normal vision is fading on him, colors beginning to explode from blue to purple to red... Kill, kill, _kill_ \--

He feels an uncomfortable throb in throat, and the tentacles hesitate. Taehyung blinks a couple times, registering his thoughts. No, he isn't a murderer. Taehyung _isn't_ a _murderer_.

The ghoul has started to beg at his feet. "Spare me! Please! I had no idea! Spare me!" he pleads. His tail is gone, dissipated, and he now covers the gaping wound at his chest, blood soaking through the fabric of his clothes and dripping all over his hand. Even as he does this, Taehyung can faintly see the skin re-stitching and repairing, _healing_.

Taehyung's tentacles attempt to jump forward, but he resists and struggles to hold them back, concentrated severely on keeping them behind himself. The ghoul has given up his pleas in favor of sprinting off with drops of blood and footprints decorating the ground.

Taehyung tries his hardest to keep these unprecedented feelings inside, locked, but they overwhelm him entirely. He loses the restraint he's given himself, his mind waging a war with his body.

Hysteria. Madness. Excitement. Fear.

Oh, he's _starving_. What can he eat?

" _You want to kill_."

Eat, no, not kill. Taehyung wants to eat.

" _You kill to eat._ "

Eat to kill? Kill to eat? What will Taehyung be eating? His tentacles are antsy and fluid in their motion, dragging him and dragging him closer and closer to the entrance of the alley. Oh, he can just go out and attack someone, _anyone_ \-- he will, he'll do it, no one will stop him, he can _eat_ \--

"Hey! If it isn't the necrophiliac!"

Two of Taehyung's tentacles aim to the rooftops, where a swift body dodges and jumps down to land right in front of Taehyung.

"You're going to have to try harder than that," they say, and Taehyung just knows he's encountered this person before. "Are those... Is that only one eye...?"

Absolutely weakened, Taehyung falls to his knees, unable to support himself any longer, tentacles steadily losing their power.

"Wow, what a baby," Taehyung hears as his vision fades to a solid black. "Guess I'll take you to Cypher." And the last thing he sees is white.


	4. another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cue snarky waiter at taehyung’s favorite cafe telling him, “you must be part alien.” and, maybe, he’s onto something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this ch. originally posted 02/26/2015)

"No fucking way, get him _out of my bed_. I swear, Seokjin hyung, this is unacceptable."

Taehyung's eyebrow twitches.

"Just for a little longer, Jungkook. No more than a day!"

The back of Taehyung's mouth tastes pleasantly sweet. Not like chocolate, or strawberries, or candy canes -- a plain, delicate sweetness.

"I want my god damn bed back, hyung. What do you mean ' _a day_ '?"

Struggling, Taehyung attempts to blink his eyes open.

"Jungkook, please, I need your cooperation-- Oh, oh, oh, oh! He's waking up! Hello there!"

Taehyung is in a bed that's not his, not Jimin's. An unknown bed. This seems like a déjà vu of sorts, but maybe a little more suspicious because this room looks nothing like the inside of a hospital. The room itself is dark, drapes covering the windows with only a smidgen of light bleeding through. There is also a familiar rustic, western atmosphere that Taehyung can relate to only one place.

"Good morning, shitface, get out of my bed," Jungkook snarls, arms crossed over his chest. He looks like he just woke up from a three day nap, with a bird's nest of hair and drooping eyes.

"I don't know how--" Taehyung flumps out of the bed and falls not-at-all graciously to the floor. He lies there for a long moment, acknowledges his mistake. "I'm down," he announces feebly.

"We can see that," Jungkook remarks, unimpressed. He turns to the other man in the room, a finely dressed gentleman, and points at Taehyung's still body. "Are you going to do something about him?" he asks stoically.

" _We_ 're going to help him!" the man says considerately, smile radiating like the morning sun.

Taehyung's head shoots up, and he begins to eye the man warily. "Have you abducted me?" he says, completely serious. "I have no job, no money, and no impressive possessions on hand. I am going to be paying off student loans 'til I'm eighty, so my actual worth is probably negative--"

Jungkook interrupts Taehyung's hysteric babbling with hushed laughter. The man glares at him, lightly hitting his shoulder, before saying, "I'm Seokjin, and I don't have any intention of mugging you."

The statement does little to lessen Taehyung's doubts.

"I'm being serious," Seokjin insists, bending down to go closer to Taehyung's eyelevel. "I just want to lend a hand." He giggles quietly afterward, and Jungkook rolls his eyes.

"Why would I need your help? What's wrong with me?"

Seokjin's eyes widen as he exclaims, "You haven't eaten!"

Taehyung's entire body goes tense, his mind frazzled. How does he-- How does this stranger know that?

"You should be glad Yoongi found you before you were able to go on a rampage," Seokjin goes on in a scolding tone of voice.

"Who is this Yoongi you speak of," Taehyung questions gravely.

"Pale face, sarcastic, a bit short, brunet," Jungkook lists off on his fingers. "He keeps his eyes shining most of the time."

"Shining...?" Taehyung says, bewildered. "Wait, he's a ghoul!?"

Seokjin and Jungkook share a look, one that Taehyung feels holds a whole conversation that he can't hear. "So Yoongi hyung was telling the truth," Jungkook hums. "That's new."

"This is... This will be a challenge," murmurs Seokjin. "Taehyung, would you mind sitting up. Or getting back on the bed. Or just off the ground -- please, that's dirty."

Taehyung scoots himself up and crawls onto the bed, which is still warm from his own body heat. "I'm confused," he says. "It always seems like I'm confused, and I don't like it at all."

"Believe me, I can't say that I know what the position you're in feels like, but I can try." Seokjin pats him on the back, gentle caresses that remind Taehyung of his late mother. "Do you want to tell us what happened yesterday?"

"Christmas Eve?"

"No, just Christmas," Jungkook says.

Taehyung frowns. "But yesterday was..." He scrunches his eyebrows, holding his chin in his palm. "No, that can't be right."

"You visited Cypher on Christmas Eve," Jungkook says, softer. He sits beside Taehyung, staring down at his feet. "I didn't even see you yesterday."

"I was going to!" Taehyung exclaims. He deflates some, frowning in concentration. "I... I was going to. But I didn't. Why didn't I?" The back of his head starts to ache, so he tries to relieve the pain by rubbing his temples.

Seokjin kneels in front of him, laying a hand on Taehyung's knee. "You can't remember what you did on Christmas? Anything at all?"

"Jimin called me," mutters Taehyung. "He told me merry Christmas, but I fell asleep." He stares down at the lines of his palms. "I got presents from him. Coffee... and a--" His hand shoots to his neck, frantically grabbing at the collar of his shirt.

"Your scarf?" Seokjin says, trying to calm him down. "Taehyung, I washed it. It's drying in the laundry room right now."

"Why'd you wash it? Why'd you take it from me?"

"It had blood on it," Jungkook says. "Don't worry -- it wasn't that much. It didn't stain."

Going pale, Taehyung repeats flatly, quietly, "Blood."

"Not your blood!" assures Seokjin. "You're perfectly fine. Except for the malnourished part, but we'll get to that later."

Taehyung feels a strong head rush, memories crawling out from where he had buried them deep. They spill out of his mouth; Jungkook and Seokjin listen intently even as he fumbles with his words. There was an old ghoul, a blood-drawn tail, a mischievous voice. It was snowing. There was blood on his hands, blood on the ground. Blood bubbling from his back to create inhuman weapons that nearly _killed_ someone. But somebody stopped him, and that's where the memories stop.

"Where's the guy who brought me in?"

"At home," Jungkook says, leaning back. "Sleeping, most likely. It's only seven in the morning."

Taehyung whimpers, "Why am I up so early?"

"You're probably getting hungry again," Seokjin states. He stands up and brushes off his pants. "I'll be right back with something to eat. Jungkook, stay with Taehyung."

Jungkook waves him off. "Aye-aye, captain." Seokjin sighs, under his breath, and leaves the room. Wryly, Jungkook turns back to speak to Taehyung, "You don't think you're a ghoul, that's what we're getting at?"

Taehyung gulps like a fish fresh out of water, flailing and sputtering, "I'm not! I'm not!" But Jungkook continues to stare at him, an indescribable smile on his lips. "I'm... I'm not..."

"Denial is the first stage of grief," Jungkook tells him offhandedly. "All signs point to you being a ghoul, whether you like it or not, Taehyung. There's no way to sugarcoat it."

"What _signs_?" Taehyung questions desperately, fingers tightly gripping the sheets.

"How you have those tentacles, how you need to eat human flesh--" Jungkook lets his words fade slowly in the air as he deliberately meets Taehyung's gaze, "--how you have one shining eye."

Taehyung is not only too afraid to run away, but too inquiring to leave. "What does that all mean? Jungkook, I know I was-- I am human. I eat food, blood makes me gag, and I have two dark brown eyes. I'm a human. Just a human."

"I'm not going to argue with you," Jungkook declares reluctantly, falling back on the bed with weary eyes. "One, I don't want to, and two, I don't know how to."

Babbling, Taehyung furiously runs his fingers through his hair, "I don't get it! How can you tell me that I'm-- I'm something I'm not, but you... you don't _know_!?"

"I don't know how _to_ ," Jungkook corrects lazily. "I'm not saying you weren't a human, at some point. What I'm saying is that you're a ghoul _now_. And I have no clue why -- you just _are_."

Taehyung drops his body down, next to Jungkook, and squeezes his eyes shut. "This must all be a nightmare," he mutters. "A bad dream, a nightmare--"

Jungkook scoffs, "Why's that? Are ghouls too scary for you? Eating humans, abominations of nature, total _monsters_. Is being a ghoul too heartbreaking for Kim Taehyung?"

"Why are you saying it like that," mumbles Taehyung, eyes flying wide open. "Are you-- Are you two both--"

As if reciting the weather forecast, Jungkook drawls with apathy in his voice, "Yes, we are motherfucking ghouls."

There is no sensible way to reply to that. There is no way for Taehyung to formulate a response that doesn't have him calling out insanity, madness. There is no other thing to say except absolutely nothing. And Jungkook, looking so small against the pale bed sheet, knows that Taehyung won't let a word slip past his cold lips.

But Jungkook doesn't _know_ Taehyung like he thinks he does.

"What's it like?"

Jungkook cracks one of his eyes open. Taehyung is directly across from him, his body trembling faintly but his gaze intent. He's waiting for an answer, waiting for Jungkook to tell him something -- anything.

"What are you trying to say," Jungkook murmurs, squinting.

"What's it like," Taehyung starts, visibly nervous, "to feel like everyone's against you?"

There has never been a time Jungkook thought he would find the breath taken from him, but here Taehyung lies with every ounce of oxygen clasped in his hands, holding it all without any knowledge of its significance.

"You know what," Jungkook whispers. "We're always hurting. Seokjin hyung, Yoongi hyung, me, everyone -- all of us. No one asks to be born how they're born. Not even us. Not even you."

Taehyung stays quiet.

"I don't know what to make of you, Kim Taehyung," Jungkook wonders aloud. "Are you a human? Are you a ghoul? Are you here to spite the rest of us who were born into living tragedies?"

"I'm sorry," Taehyung apologizes. "I don't mean anything like that. I don't mean anything. I don't mean any trouble. Jungkook, I'm so confused, but I'll-- I'll make it up to you. I'll do what I can. I'll help! Tell me how, I'll do it!"

Jungkook slowly rises from the bed and walks across the room, leisurely pulling a chair out from the table. "Come here," he orders, folding his arms over the top of the seat.

Taehyung scampers over, sitting in the chair, obedient. "What's happening?" he asks, swinging around to blink naively at Jungkook.

"You're going to eat," Jungkook tells him. "Before you can help us, you have to help yourself first. And that means taking care of yourself, like eating right."

Struck speechless, Taehyung flaps his mouth open and closed, hesitant on whether he can come up with a reasonable protest. "Will I be okay? Eating i-it? It won't... do anything bad to me?"

Jungkook carelessly tilts his head back and forth. "It shouldn't," he says. "Don't think too much about it. You're just eating food."

Taehyung can't stop his obvious grimace from appearing.

"Don't worry," Jungkook reassures. "You already had some earlier."

"What? I did? When?"

Jungkook bites his lip, looking away. "When Yoongi hyung brought you here," he begins, "you weren't in the right state of mind. You were about to eat... We had to give you something before you went haywire. I gave you a couple-- Well, I won't tell you, because you look like you're going to faint."

"I'm fine," Taehyung asserts. "A little woozy, but fine."

Jungkook responds with a boyish grin, poking Taehyung's head before going back to snuggle up in his bed. Taehyung kind of wants to go back and join him, but Seokjin returns with a platter hidden under a silver cover, grin evident on his face.

"Are you ready for breakfast?" he asks cheerily, setting the plate in front of Taehyung. "I brought utensils, in case you wanted."

"Thank you," Taehyung says with trepidation. He stares down at his reflection in the cover, making distorted faces to stall. When he feels like he's wasted enough of everyone's time, Taehyung announces quite drearily, "So... this is food."

Jungkook snorts from afar. Seokjin, ignoring him, takes the cover off and replies warmly, "For you, it should be. Eat up. You're going to have a big day, Taehyung. We're going to go places."

Taehyung feels his heart swell. "Okay," he says, nodding determinedly. The plate doesn't look as unappetizing as he had imagined. It looks like regular uncooked meat, dark red against a pristine white plate. He grabs a fork and takes a small slab, dripping with blood, and swiftly shoves it into his mouth. Taehyung's chewing slows as he realizes...

"Not half bad, huh?" Jungkook leers, grinning brightly.

He doesn't want to admit it out loud, but yeah, after a few more bites, Taehyung can definitely have this over starving himself.


	5. workday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cue snarky waiter at taehyung’s favorite cafe telling him, “you must be part alien.” and, maybe, he’s onto something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this ch. originally posted on 04/03/2015)

Namjoon wakes up to silver strands of hair in his face, which makes him frown at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Yesterday, he had gone to bed with black hair, slightly damp from a late night shower -- definitely _not_ silver. With this color, he looks like he's in high school again, producing mixtapes and promoting social justice.

"Hoseok, what have you done," he sighs, agitatedly ruffling his hair.

A head pokes out from behind the door, the inquisitive eyes of Jung Hoseok blinking merrily in Namjoon's direction. "I heard my name," he hums, pouting his lips. "But you didn't call me 'hyung'! How impolite!"

Namjoon grips the edge of the sink, shoulders hunched in exasperation. "Hoseok, we are coworkers that hold a professional bond with one another. That term is too familiar -- I've been over that."

Hoseok plays with the red stitch embroidered at the side of his mouth as he childishly juts out his lower lip. "We're roommates, too," he murmurs. "So mean... Namjoonie is so mean..."

"You _dyed_ my _hair_ ," sneers Namjoon, more frustrated than surprised at this point.

"I was bored! There's nothing to do here," Hoseok complains, hanging off the handle of the door. "Come on, Namjoonie, it looks great on you! You just need some bows! I think I have some in my--"

"No bows."

Hoseok scowls. "Buzz kill," he snaps, sticking out his tongue and skipping out of the bathroom.

Namjoon hits his head against the mirror and recollects his thoughts, moaning. He'll get used to being silver-headed, eventually. When Hoseok dyed his hair red, a few months back, Namjoon only fussed that the coloring was cheap and bled when it got wet. His hair now, though, feels more natural and silky -- hopefully due to a more promising brand of hair dye.

Having Hoseok as a partner, Namjoon always tells himself, is worth it in the long run. Despite his eccentric behavior, Hoseok is one of the most skilled investigators in all of CCG, narrowly reaching #4 in the country. When they're on the field, whether they're speaking with ghoul suspects or facing them head-on, Hoseok excels with flying colors. During their first outing together, Namjoon had been pleasantly surprised at Hoseok, who he had once thought was just an inexperienced newbie in the workforce.

"Namjoonie! Do we have any printer paper? Also, where are the crayons?"

Living with Hoseok, though, is a challenge in itself -- truly a struggle for Kim Namjoon.

"Under the television stand," Namjoon responds as he starts to brush his teeth. Afterwards, he swishes mouthwash into his mouth and splashes his face with warm water. (Proper hygiene is always a must.) Once he finishes toweling his face, he goes to the kitchen and pulls open the fridge to look for breakfast.

Hoseok appears on top of the door, eyes dark and inquisitive. "What's for food?" he asks in a high-pitched voice. "Hm? Hm?"

"We have milk that expires in a couple days," Namjoon says casually. "Cereal would definitely be the best option. There's some in--"

"Let's make scrambled eggs!"

Namjoon sighs, rubbing his forehead. Hoseok's face is dazzling, upbeat, and Namjoon really doesn't have the heart to tell him that they've run out of eggs nearly a week ago.

"We have some leftovers from yesterday," Namjoon states. "Grilled meat, your favorite."

Hoseok lights up even brighter. (It's safe to say Namjoon dodged a bullet.)

\--

"Did you even brush your hair before we left?" Namjoon asks, as they climb up the stairs to their floor of the building.

Hoseok lolls his head to the side, chestnut hair shielding his eyes. "Nope," he declares. "Didn't wanna. My hair is fine like this!"

Namjoon begs to differ. Hoseok never dresses appropriately for work -- his wardrobe is fit for a rebellious teen, equipped with ripped jeans and backwards caps. That wild hair is one of the things that makes him appear younger, free-spirited. Compared to Namjoon, who is rarely ever seen without a suit and slicked back hair (no matter what color), Hoseok would appear to be entirely unqualified for a job as serious as a ghoul investigator. But, on the contrary, Hoseok is the _most_ qualified -- he's Namjoon's mentor, as well as his partner.

They reach the fourth floor and stride toward the office. "Jaebum is going to scold you," Namjoon says. "He's hiding an entire bathroom kit in his desk, just for you."

Hoseok pouts, mimicking a duck. "That's not true. He wouldn't be able to fit all that stuff there!"

Namjoon raises an eyebrow. "How would you know?"

Wrinkling his nose, Hoseok skips to his desk and sticks out his tongue. "Touché, Namjoonie." He leaps onto his chair, the seat spinning round and round until it begins to wobble precariously.

"Hoseok, could you not," Jaebum huffs from his own desk, next to Namjoon's, absorbed in typing on his laptop. "The last time you did that you turned all the screws loose, broke the chair, and nearly snapped your neck."

"But I didn't," Hoseok proclaims proudly. "I'm nimble!"

A head pops up from the barrier across Jaebum's desk, bright blond with dark roots. "Nimble enough not to die," Yugyeom snorts. "Yo, what's with the hair, Namjoon sunbae? Going to a rock concert?"

"Quiet, intern," Mark says, bopping the boy on the head with a folder. He turns to Namjoon, putting out a thumbs-up. "The hair looks awesome, by the way. Who did it?"

Namjoon gestures weakly in Hoseok's direction. "I was ambushed... Unfortunately."

Mark chuckles. He passes by the grumbling Yugyeom and leans against Namjoon's desk, dropping the manila folder in front of the other worker. "There's a new case out," he announces.

"You're not on it?" Namjoon asks, taking a peek at what's inside the folder.

"Me and Jinyoung are on another assignment, in Incheon. It's a whole group of troublesome ghouls." Then, sordidly, Mark adds, " _C_ classes, but there are going to be over fifteen of them in a single, dingy garage. Yours is much more interesting."

The case in Namjoon's hands is full of lengthy documents and blurry photos. Namjoon can make out a consistent figure in all of them, clothed in tight black leather, bright hair covered by a hood. Almost every picture has a slight sparkle, as if the mask the ghoul has chosen to hide their identity with is bejeweled. At the top of the title page, written in clean ink, is the name _Masquerade_. Under it, their ranking is stamped as an _A_.

"What do you know about this?" Namjoon asks while reading the opening statement.

Mark shrugs. "Boss handed it to me to give to you. Peeked at it, saw a shit ton of words, closed it. It's interesting, yeah, but there's too much background knowledge for me to handle. Jinyoung, for once, agreed with me."

"This means I'll be the one to do all the reading," sighs Namjoon. "Thanks, Mark."

"Don't mention it." Mark heads to his desk on the other side of the room but stops, turning back to his coworker. "You should try to get Hoseok to look through all that, too. It might help some."

Namjoon glances over at his partner, who is gleefully tying Yugyeom's hair with colorful rubber bands and paperclips. "He wouldn't," Namjoon says. "Hoseok works best in the moment, improvising."

"That's too reckless," Mark chides.

Running a hand through his hair, Namjoon smiles tiredly. "Yeah, you're telling me."

Jaebum tosses a paper ball at Mark's head, interrupting the conversation. "Come over here and check this report with me," he orders, insistent. "You're wasting precious work time. Talk to Namjoon during lunch or something."

"Don't act all high and mighty," Mark scoffs. "I see you playing League of Legends while we're in meetings. _Geek_."

"I do not," Jaebum barks. "Get to work, asshole!"

Mark rolls his eyes. He murmurs to Namjoon, "Should I complain to HR about him?"

Namjoon pushes him away, laughing. "No," he says, "that's not worth it at all."

"Damn." Mark snaps his fingers and begrudgingly stalks over to Jaebum, kicking the legs of his chair. "Oops," he drawls monotonously.

Hoseok's boisterous voice suddenly rings throughout the office. "Hey, Namjoonie! Grab your phone and come this way! You have to see this! Come on!"

A pouting, sulking Yugyeom with nearly twenty hair ties and paperclips decorating his bleached hair is, arguably, one of the silliest things Namjoon has seen in a while. Hoseok is complimenting Yugyeom's appearance, cooing and giggling delightedly. Namjoon takes enough pictures to keep as memories -- and maybe even blackmail, if he grows close enough to his workers to use it against them.

During moments like these, Namjoon forgets that their jobs are the most dangerous, most lethal professions in the world. He likes to forget, because it makes the reality much less real to his perceptive mind.

\--

Before the team is able to pursue the accused ghoul, Hoseok and Namjoon have to scout Masquerade until they have enough firsthand evidence to persecute them. Normally, Hoseok dislikes this part of the investigation, since it's mainly trailing someone home from the grocery store or something boring like that. This case is set up to different circumstances, however, and Hoseok can say that he's definitely not going to be bored.

"We're going to a club!" he exclaims while he eagerly sifts through his clothes dressers.

"For a job. It's the quickest way to deal with this ghoul," Namjoon adds, leaning against the doorframe. "Don't get too excited."

Hoseok lets out a frustrated, whining noise as he clutches a neon graphic tee to his chest. "I _have_ to be, Namjoonie," he insists. "It's a _club_! If I'm not extra energized, people will suspect something! And our missions are super covert!"

Namjoon looks down, contemplative. "Well, you have a point..."

"I always do." Hoseok puffs out his chest proudly. He notices Namjoon's outfit and sputters, "Are you seriously going to wear _that_?"

Namjoon nods. It's a simple button-up shirt, powder blue, with freshly ironed slacks. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"Everything. Everything is wrong with that."

For the next half hour, Hoseok dedicates himself to improving Namjoon's wardrobe, tossing shirts and jeans and sweaters and accessories into the younger man's arms. Namjoon doesn't particularly enjoy being treated as a mannequin, dressed up and down to Hoseok's whims, in clothes too tight for his figure. But, for the sake of the investigation, Namjoon puts up with Hoseok's finicky fashion choices for him since none of the outfits he picks are to his liking.

"It's getting late," Namjoon says, socked foot tapping anxiously on the wooden floor. "Shouldn't we get going?"

Hoseok holds out a denim jacket for Namjoon to put his arms through and scowls. "Ay, Namjoonie, you sound like an old woman," he reprimands. "There is no such thing as _late_ when it comes to nightlife. As long as the stars are out, you are always on time."

"That's deep," Namjoon chuckles. He inspects his current outfit and, surprisingly, finds it easy on the eyes. Along with his jacket, he has a simple black tee and (not skinny) ripped jeans. "Can I just leave in this one?"

Rubbing his chin, Hoseok lets out a long sigh. "Yeah, it'll do. I don't think you'll like anything else in my closet anyway. You don't look like a skins kind of guy."

"And you are?" The question slips out, but Namjoon doesn't have any time to take it back. Hoseok has already heard it, acknowledged it, and his pink lips soon curl to an ear to ear smile.

"Showing off my body modifications is a tribute to the artist," Hoseok chimes as he spins around in his loose-fitting tank top, stark white against tan skin. The red thread stands out as well, spiraling down his arms and fingers like barbed roses in a garden. "I don't remember their name, but this is the least I can do, y'know?"

Namjoon shakes his head. "Let's get going."

Hoseok pouts. "Meanie," he mutters.

They have to drive in a company car -- Namjoon takes the wheel while Hoseok fiddles with the radio -- to ensure an accessible getaway. The club is in an obscure location, on the border of the ghoul territory and red-light district, home to every illegal business Hoseok can name off his fingers and toes. They aren't the police, though, so none of that is their problem. The alleged ghoul Masquerade is their sole focus tonight, presumed to be mingled in drunken bodies on the dance floor.

Namjoon heads into the club first, Hoseok following suit. The bouncer -- a lean, broad-shouldered male figure -- doesn't ask for IDs, but he gives the two investigators a long look from head to toe. He seems convinced at Hoseok's appearance, but he lingers on Namjoon for a moment longer before letting them pass.

Hoseok is terribly smug as they walk through the corridors. "You got through because of your hair, Namjoonie," he giggles.

"What are you talking about?" Instinctively, Namjoon fluffs his hair, thankful Hoseok had given up on injecting various products in it. (Although, Hoseok had the time of his life with his own hair, which sticks out at every end due to copious amounts of gel and hairspray.)

"Your _silver_ hair! If it was still black, I'm sure that guy would've kicked you to the curb," Hoseok swears, poking Namjoon's shoulder. "Everybody knows that dyed hair means you're ready to have a good time! Good thing that covered up your stick-up-the-ass aura."

"Hey," Namjoon interjects, a tad offended.

"Come on, you know it's true." The music begins to drown out their conversation, and Hoseok speaks louder. "I'll be out on the dance floor! Namjoonie, scout out the boring places!" And, like the fluttering wings of a butterfly, Hoseok takes off.

A "boring place" that first comes to Namjoon's mind is the bar all the way at the end of the room, barely occupied aside from some passed out lightweights. The bartender is well-mannered, somewhat sexist but that's to be expected. His hair is fiery red, almost orange, and the kohl lining his eyes gives off an air of intimidation.

"Do ya plan on drinking somethin'?" the bartender asks, holding up a half-full bottle of liquor. "You look a li'l strung up, pal, so I'll offer one to ya for three-quarters price."

Namjoon would initially say no, he doesn't drink, but turning down an offer like that at a _club_ is highly suspicious and a danger to the case. "I'll take a martini," he says (because Hoseok likes drinking those with strawberries and Namjoon does not know any other alcoholic beverages).

The bartender quirks an eyebrow. "A quiet drink, ah? Comin' right up."

With the bartender busying himself with the order, Namjoon takes the time to skirt his eyes around the room in search of Masquerade. Contrary to other ghouls, who try to blend in with the crowd, Masquerade has done their most to stick out like a sore thumb. Namjoon spots them easily, standing atop the stage and singing an old karaoke-style song, short hair so bleached it's almost white -- exactly as it is in the candid photos provided in the case file.

"Here ya go," says the bartender, setting the cocktail in front of Namjoon. "You watchin' Choa?" he says, amused, nodding his head towards the stage. "Sorry, but she's taken, pal."

"She has a family?" Namjoon asks. He takes a sip from his drink, holding back his grimace at the unfamiliar taste.

The bartender laughs heartily and shakes his head. "I wouldn't call it that," he says. "She has a boyfriend of sorts. They've been on and off for the last few months."

Namjoon, feeling that this conversation might hold significance to the investigation, presses further. "How come? Are they off now?"

"Hold your horses. Are you interested in her?" The bartender purses his lips, not quite annoyed but almost. "I wouldn't venture in that direction. Her boyfriend, whether they're together or not, is one hell of a dude."

"What's he like?"

"Tall, handsome, charming..." The bartender smirks. "Strong. Dangerous."

Namjoon immediately gets a dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach -- that Masquerade isn't the only ghoul in this club. There are probably a dozen of them, and he and Hoseok are in the midst of them all. "I'll be on the lookout," Namjoon says briskly, paying for his barely touched drink. "For her... boyfriend."

The bartender chuckles, "You don't have to worry, pal. He doesn't like to be around during the nights she eats."

There's an alarm going off in Namjoon's head.

A wry smile, cold. "She's a messy eater."

Namjoon instinctively reaches to his side, for his briefcase, but he'd left it in the car to avoid speculating gazes. He's defenseless, and he only realizes it now. Namjoon swallows nervously. A hot hand settles on his thigh, and he jumps in his seat.

"Calm down, Namjoonie," comes Hoseok's smooth voice. "It's just me."

"Hey," Namjoon breathes.

Hoseok has that look on his sweating face -- the one that placates Namjoon's worries when they fall into unfavorable situations. "I found something," Hoseok whispers, tongue peeking out to swipe at his stitches. "Something good."

Namjoon nods. "I think... Me too."

"That girl on stage? There's blood under her fingernails; I can see it. Plus, everyone says that she doesn't eat at all -- not any real food." Hoseok grins, eyes practically sparkling. "Do we have enough evidence to--"

"Yeah, I've got a little firsthand stuff myself." Namjoon gets up from his chair, taking a deep breath in. "Should we wait for her, or do you want to try to call her out?" Hoseok's smile grows wider. "You already did, didn't you?"

Hoseok giggles impishly behind his hand. "She'll be standing in the darkest alley."

"You're sly," Namjoon scoffs. "Come on, let's hurry outside and get our gear."

Weaving past the crowd, the team returns to the night air and finds their car at the side of the street, right where Namjoon parked it. They don't speak at all as they take hold of their gray briefcases, not until Namjoon asks Hoseok which alleyway Masquerade is in. Even then, Hoseok only points in the direction, leading them to the ghoul.

Masquerade gives off an aura of royalty, one leg propped up as she leans against the brick wall, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes gleam in the moonlight, and her lips have a hot pink sheen of gloss. "You didn't tell me you were gonna bring your friend," she purrs.

"He's my partner," Hoseok beams.

"You don't look like the type to be pegged down," hums Masquerade. She's blatantly eyeing their briefcases, as if challenging them to open. "Are you tellin' me that I came out here for no good reason?"

Namjoon sets his briefcase down and clears his throat. "No," he responds evenly. "That's not the case, Masquerade."

The ghoul perks up, eyebrow twitching slightly. "My, haven't heard _that_ in a while." She straightens up, tilting her head to the side. "Who sent you to kill me this time? Which Ward?"

"That's classified," Namjoon declares.

Masquerade drums her nails on the wall, pouting. "Pity." She pulls out something sparkly from inside her jacket -- a mask covered in glittering jewels of all sorts. When she slips it over her eyes, her entire demeanor transforms into something ominous. "I wanted to know who to send my regards to when I kill you both."

Hoseok squats down and opens his briefcase, taking out the parts of his weapon and assembling them with haste. "You break hearts," he begins to mutter frantically. "I hate people like you. People who don't give a damn about others. People who don't care. I hate you."

"Well, that's unfortunate," Masquerade drawls, bored. A glow of dark red slowly forms at the joint of her shoulder, pulsing like an organ. "Ah, you silly investigators -- with your pseudo-ghoul gear that will never compare to the originals."

"These fakes come from those _originals_ ," hisses Hoseok, dark. His weapon finally clicks into place, a sharpened six-foot scythe from the flesh of a ghoul's tail. "Don't you dare degrade what's rightfully mine."

A chord snaps in Masquerade, a sickening crack as her blade of blood forms at the side of her arm. "Rightfully yours?" she scoffs. "Nothing here... No, nothing _anywhere_ that is a ghoul's belongs to a filthy human!"

With fury on her side, Masquerade pounces toward Hoseok, her blade pointed straight for his throat. Hoseok blocks the attack, a swift flick of the wrist, and pushes her back with the blunt end of his scythe. Masquerade stumbles backwards, grimacing.

Hoseok trills, "Did you underestimate me? Am I too cute to kill you?" He swings at her once, twice -- as many times as he can until the edge of his scythe cuts deep into Masquerade's leg, blood rushing out from the gash while she screams.

"How dare you," she wheezes. The cut in her leg is already repairing itself, a trait unique to ghouls, and she turns around so she can attempt a strike at Hoseok's legs.

With light steps, Hoseok dodges easily with a delicate flip in the air, holding his scythe close. "I should kill you fast, to put you out of your misery." Masquerade leaps at him, blocked again by an experienced hand. "Then again," he hums, their weapons scraping harshly against one another, "you're being difficult."

It takes longer than Hoseok had anticipated -- almost fifteen minutes -- for him to wound Masquerade enough for her to be immobile, unable to regenerate. Dripping in blood, Masquerade topples over and crumples to the ground, the weight of her blade constraining her. She tries to guard her feeble body with it, a weak attempt to save herself.

" _Filthy_ ," spits Hoseok. He places the pointed tip of his scythe at her shoulder, stilled. "I'm going to cut you--" A guttural cry wretches from Masquerade's throat as Hoseok slices her arm clean off, taking the blood blade with it, "--to pieces."

Namjoon is a simple spectator in the whole ordeal. He's never been good with a pseudo-ghoul weapon, too clumsy for his own good. He's mind over body. Every plan, every possibility, and every outcome -- every detail of an investigation is meticulously constructed by him and acted by his partner. Being paired up with Hoseok, who is all spirit and power, truly makes them the indestructible duo.

"Have you finished?" he asks, walking slowly to the now mutilated corpse, limbs severed from their tendons.

Hoseok nods, smiling blissfully. "Hey, she'll make a good gear, right?" Albeit slathered in blood, he retains his cheerful attitude and aura, as if he hadn't just committed a brutal murder. "Well retained, yeah?"

Namjoon tosses Hoseok a towel as he opens his briefcase. "I think Jackson will like it," Namjoon says. Inside his briefcase there is no pseudo-ghoul weapon -- only a thin knife and emptiness to hold the remains of ghouls. "He's the only one who can handle these bulky ones," Namjoon adds.

"Mark can, too," Hoseok insists, lips curled outward. "He wasn't great, at first, but he's gotten a whole lot better!"

Namjoon recalls observing training sessions and countless simulative trials by Mark Tuan, #10 on the investigator rankings. "True," he agrees. After packing away the mess, hands sullied, he shuts the briefcase and gets to his feet. The blood has stained the most of the alley, but Namjoon leaves it be. (No one ever reports anything in this district, not when crime is second nature to almost all.) Checking his watch, he goes over to Hoseok and lightly taps on his head.

"It's almost three," he declares. The sky concurs with him, transitioning from midnight blue to a mixture of indigo and violet. "Do you want to go anywhere after we drop this off at the office?"

Absently rubbing his hands on the towel, Hoseok scrunches his eyebrows together in thought. "Hm... I'm kinda hungry, now that you mention it. Is there anything to munch on at the apartment?"

Namjoon shrugs. "Probably microwavable dinners. Or ramen noodles."

"Sounds yummy!" Hoseok exclaims. He pulls on Namjoon's sleeve, skipping to the car. "Hey, is there any coffee? I want a warm cup so bad..."

"It's hours before dawn, plus the day after Christmas. Do you expect anywhere to be open?"

Hoseok just laughs, too loud in the silent night, and eagerly slips his hand into Namjoon's. "Let's go out and see!"

Namjoon sighs, wearily following along, his cheeks reddening in the cold winter air.


	6. creation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i realized i wrote this a bit out of order. it goes, chronologically, from 1, 2, 3, 5, 4..... and now 6. so it should be in order now unless specified otherwise! also i'll just continue to officially post this on ao3 instead of tumblr, bc this is slightly more convenient viewing!!

Jungkook walks incredibly fast and is unreasonably hard to keep up with. Taehyung is practically jogging at his side when he tries to ask, "Where are we going?" for the third time.

"To Yoongi hyung," Jungkook finally answers, hitching his knapsack higher on his back. "Seokjin hyung was going to go, too, but the cafe took priority. Something urgent came up, I guess."

Taehyung gasps. "Yoongi? Isn't that--" On instinct, he clutches his (clean) white scarf, "--the guy who saved me yesterday?"

"Saved... Sure, let's go with that."

Grinning, Taehyung looks up at the sky and blows a puff of air out of his mouth, the brief cloud of air dispersed by the wind. "How come?" he asks, curious. "Are we going to visit him just because, or is there a legit reason?"

Like Taehyung, Jungkook is adequately dressed for the winter weather, wearing a knit beanie and a gray coat of many buttons, which probably has an actual name that Taehyung does not much care for. Jungkook stuffs his gloved hands into his pockets and replies briskly, "Legit reason."

"And what's that?"

Jungkook seems at an unconcerned loss for what to say next, but then, with one of his hands, he begins to make motions around his face, saying, "To get a mask. For you."

"Why would I need a mask?" Taehyung asks, somewhat distressed, placing his palm delicately on his cheek. "My skin is already so healthy and soft. I moisturize daily."

Scrunching his eyebrows, Jungkook lets out a short laugh and gives Taehyung an exasperated shake of the head. "That's not-- No, Taehyung, not that kind of mask."

Taehyung drops his hand. "Oh," he says. "So... like a clown mask?"

"Definitely not," Jungkook says hastily, waving the idea away with his hand. He nods his head forward, where they've reached a worn down building with its doors boarded up and graffiti lining the walls. At one point, it must have been a typical convenience store, or maybe even a thrift shop. "You'll see," he concludes.

"We're not going in there," Taehyung stammers nervously, "are we?"

Jungkook walks on ahead, replying, "Where does it look like we're going?" over his shoulder. "Come on. Someone might see you."

Burying his face into his scarf, Taehyung skips behind Jungkook and cautiously approaches the abandoned shop with him. Unexpectedly, Jungkook veers to the side of the street, going around the front doors and to the back of the building. Taehyung follows, his heart pounding, still not entirely sure where Jungkook is bringing him. When Jungkook halts in front of him, Taehyung almost rams into the other boy due to lack of attention, squeaking as he stops himself.

There is a dank stairwell, litter and clumps of dirty snow on the steps, leading to what seems to be the worn out door to the basement of the building. "Before you say anything," Jungkook begins, clearing his throat, "this isn't as shady as it seems."

Taehyung tries to offer a smile, but it turns out to look like the visual equivalent of a small dog's whimper. "How about I wait out here? You can order my mask for me; I can chill near this... this cardboard box. Everyone's happy!"

Jungkook rolls his eyes and pulls the reluctant Taehyung by the end of his scarf, eliciting yet another whine from Taehyung. "The masks are _custom-_ made. _You_ have to be there to get it," huffs Jungkook. "It's less bad inside. I promise."

"Urgh," Taehyung gurgles. He continues to complain (quite obnoxiously) with a variety of moans and groans, up until Jungkook gets him to the bottommost step and knocks harshly on the rotting ebony door.

"Hyung!" Jungkook calls, between every few thumps. "Hyung, open the door!" A whole minute passes. No response. "Hyung, wake up!" Once again, nothing. "Hyung, I brought you some coffee! Your favorite!"

And there it is. The door unlocks -- once, twice, thrice -- and Jungkook pushes it open, letting Taehyung in before he closes it once more, locking the numerous metal clasps and hooks back into place. Obviously, the first thing Taehyung notices is the extreme darkness of the whole room, no windows apparent, only a few blips of light scattered here and there, possibly reflections or glitter. Holding tightly onto Jungkook's arm, Taehyung carefully drags his feet as he trails along, no less frightened at the eerie space.

"Let's turn on the lights," he suggests, at a shaky whisper.

"Hyung ran away," Jungkook mutters to himself, looking around. He turns his head, and even though it's pitch black, Taehyung swears he can see glowing irises. "We're getting there," Jungkook directs at Taehyung. "It's all the way at the back, so hold on."

Taehyung's animal-like whining resumes. Not until Jungkook, a good two minutes later, gets to the fuse box in the back corner of the room does Taehyung fall silent. When Jungkook finds the main switch and flips it, the overhead lights flicker their fluorescent bulbs and illuminate every inch of the basement -- and Taehyung sort of wants to go back in the dark.

At first, everything looks fairly normal. Like Jungkook had said, it it's not that bad inside, not dirty or smelly or rat-infested like Taehyung had imagined. There's black-and-white checkered flooring, some tiles chipped but still recognizable, and solid blue walls covered with multicolored flyers. In the corner of the room, there's a cluttered desk and a shelf above it that holds even more junk. On the velvet couch a few steps away from them, a resting body is wrapped in a puffy blanket and holding a messily stitched voodoo doll. But none of this is what Taehyung's afraid of.

More than twenty gleaming white mannequins, each one taking on a different lifelike pose, are placed on the tiles throughout the room. Several have metal jewelry around their necks or wrists; others have hats or slick jackets. At first glance, they're just models for fashion clothes and accessories. The ones that rile up Taehyung's fears, though, are the ones that have crudely drawn expressions illustrated on their faces, smears of dried blood down the necks and arms. It's like they belong in a house of horrors.

"What is this place," murmurs Taehyung, biting his lip.

The body on the couch rolls over noisily and sits up, the blanket wrapped around their shoulders. With their eyes closed and mouth downturned, Taehyung comes to recognize them as the ghoul from _that_ night. No, not yesterday, when Taehyung was almost dragged down a pit of madness and murdered. That _night_ \-- that night that feels so long ago, that night Taehyung ran like hell, that night he saw a ghoul for the first time... _That_ night.

Taehyung points a shaky finger at Yoongi, mouth agape, and balks, "You!"

Yoongi squints at him. "Me," he retorts groggily, voice harsh. "What about me? Why are you here? I'm tired."

Speaking up loudly, Jungkook butts in, "Taehyung, this is Yoongi. Yoongi hyung, this is Taehyung." He sheds his bag and coat, hanging them on a mostly empty mannequin's arm, and swats Taehyung's hand down. "Hyung, make one mask -- for him -- and then we'll leave you alone."

"Wow, so rude at such an early hour," Yoongi grumbles, rubbing at his eyes and hugging his doll close. "Barging into _my_ home, demanding _I_ do a task for you, offering _me_ a caffeinated beverage and it _not_ being in my hand at this moment--"

"God, calm down." Jungkook reaches into his knapsack and pulls out a silver thermos, tossing it to Yoongi. "There. Your coffee. Freshly brewed by Seokjin hyung."

Yoongi undoes the cap and sniffs the contents. "Iced?" he inquires.

Jungkook toes off his shoes and flops down onto the couch, on the opposite side of Yoongi, curling up and folding his arms under his head. "Yeah. There's a shit-ton of blood cubes, too."

"Mm," hums Yoongi, smiling delightedly. "Thanks, young one." As he takes a sip of his drink, Taehyung just then realizes that Yoongi's eyes are shining, oh-so-casually, as if nothing of the sort is out of the ordinary. It's frightening.

"Why were you there?" Taehyung blurts, his hands tightening unto his coat. Jungkook and Yoongi turn to stare at him, but he can't bother to bring his head up. "A few days ago, when there was that d-dead body, you talked to me. You... You talked to me like you knew I was..." He takes a breath to steady himself. "Like you knew I was a ghoul."

Yoongi presents an innocent expression while Jungkook drops his jaw, shocked. "You've met Yoongi hyung before?"

Taehyung doesn't know how to respond to that, so he settles for a weak, "Kind of."

Jungkook prods Yoongi's arm several times with his foot, glaring at the ghoul intensely. "What'd you do? Did you hurt him?"

"Hey, I only teased," Yoongi elaborates pointedly as he shields himself and his coffee with his voodoo doll. "And then _he_ \--" Yoongi gestures to Taehyung, scowling, "--bolted off, so I couldn't even make proper conversation. Talk about being impolite."

"You were eating a-- eating a finger! From a dead body!" Taehyung barks accusingly, face heating up. Apprehensively, he clutches onto his own index finger with his other hand, a wobbling frown on his face. "Y-You even offered it to me!"

Jungkook clucks his tongue. Yoongi hugs his thermos close, slurping obnoxiously. "In my defense," he begins haughtily, "somebody decided to die, and I was going to pack 'em up for Cypher to use later. I'm a good ghoul, okay. Recycling and shit."

"Good ghoul," scoffs Jungkook. "As good as a bag of dirt, maybe."

"I would be organic dirt," Yoongi argues.

Taehyung, even though he's still reasonably scared of Yoongi, responds carefully, "All dirt is organic."

Yoongi narrows his eyes at him. "Hey, what's your deal? Why aren't you nicer to me?" He leans forward, deadpan. "I saved your ass from basically killing yourself, you know. You should be grateful."

"I am grateful," insists Taehyung, "but that doesn't mean I have to be nicer to you."

Jungkook chortles at that remark, and Yoongi gives Taehyung a slow, satisfied nod of the head. "Good logic," he notes. "You've earned a smidgen of my respect, kid. So, what is it you guys want, again?"

Taehyung responds unsurely, "A mask?" He turns to Jungkook for confirmation and receives a ready thumbs-up from the other boy. "Yeah, a mask. For some reason."

Yoongi rises to his feet, tucks his doll back in the blanket, and finds a pair of fluffy slippers to slip on underneath the couch. "You don't know why you need a mask?" he says, sipping his coffee, shuffling to the other side of the room. "You sure are a strange ghoul."

"Well," Taehyung mumbles. He takes a seat beside Jungkook, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. "I don't think I'm _really_ \--"

Jungkook cuts him off, "Taehyung is currently an enigmatic phenomenon." He idly tugs on Taehyung's scarf (the poor kid hasn't even taken off his coat) and continues, "For all intents and purposes, we're calling him a ghoul."

"How charming," comments Yoongi, very uncaringly, while he rummages through the multitude of drawers in his desk. After he finds what he's looking for -- a yellow strip of measuring tape -- he sets his thermos on the desk and walks back over to the couch, humming. "Tell me about your troubles as I touch your face."

With Yoongi so close, bending down at the waist, Taehyung feels tenser than ever, having those aberrant ghoul eyes so close to him. Yoongi's cold fingers carefully wrap around his neck, the tape snug against his skin, and Taehyung squeaks, "Um! My name is Kim Taehyung! Um..." (Yoongi snorts.) "Coffee is my favorite drink. I like the color green a lot. I'm in the middle of an identity crisis, but I've mostly handled it."

"Ooh, bummer." Yoongi moves on to measure the area around Taehyung's mouth, right under his nose and squishing his lips. "So your crisis has to do with--" Yoongi closes his one of his eyes and enlarges the other reddened pupil, "--and all that jazz?"

"Hngrh?" Taehyung says, garbled, leaning back slightly. Yoongi sees the dilemma and takes off the measuring tape for a moment, and Taehyung replies, "Uh, well, I used to play the saxophone in high school. I was second chair. Seungwon sunbae was very tough competition."

That response earns a hearty laugh from Yoongi, the corners of his eyes wrinkling and his mouth showing nothing but teeth. It astonishes Taehyung, extremely, because Yoongi almost looks human like this, as he gives Taehyung a bright and bemused smile. Jungkook, perched on his side of the sofa, watches silently with his head resting in the palm of his hand.

"You know, Taehyung, you're definitely something," Yoongi declares, still chuckling. He measures the vertical length of Taehyung's face and continues, "You're a real joker, and I like that. How come Jungkook hasn't brought you here sooner?"

Taehyung skirts his eyes in Jungkook's direction, who now has his eyes shut and breathes evenly. "This is all new to me," confesses Taehyung, sheepish. He gestures vaguely in the air, pursing his lips. "The... The whole ghoul lifestyle. I'm new. It's hard to adapt to." He smiles softly. "But after everything that's happened the last two months, I should just be glad I'm still breathing, you know?"

Yoongi hums, placing the tape at other miscellaneous areas of Taehyung's face -- the eyes, ears, nose, jaw line. "What've you been up to? Nothing illegal, I hope. Between you and me, Taehyung, I am a true advocate of completely lawful conduct." Straightening up, he raises his right hand with the other placed over his heart. "Scout's honor."

"Stop spewing bull," Jungkook chides. Yoongi pouts.

Taehyung scratches the side if his head, his expression bleak. "Actually," he starts, "I was in the hospital for the most of December." Jungkook's eyes go wide, and Yoongi's face shows piqued interest. "I promise it wasn't as bad as you probably think."

"What happened?" asks Jungkook. "How...?"

"I got hit by a truck," Taehyung responds simply. He frowns. "Okay, so maybe it _does_ sound bad, if I put it like that..."

Yoongi inspects him, eyebrow raised. "You regenerated, right? One of your arms must've been pretty sliced from that." He winces. "That hurts like hell. Happened to me... twice, I think."

Taehyung grimaces and shakes his head. "Nothing _bad_ bad happened. I only broke a few bones, some internal stuff. I healed." He wiggles his fingers in front of his face and grins. "Even though it was scary, I'm glad I came out alive."

Sighing, Yoongi gives Taehyung a pat on the cheek and heads back to his desk, pulling out the chair and taking a seat there. "You're quite optimistic for a ghoul," he observes offhandedly. From one of the smaller drawers, he pulls out a small yellow notepad and a pen and uncaps it with his teeth. "Majority of us know we're better off dead. It's our nature."

"I'm not--" Taehyung bites his tongue. "I... I was a human. I act like a human. Something must've changed. I don't know what happened, but I'm not one anymore. I'm a ghoul-ish." Yoongi stares at him, squinting, as he scribbles onto his paper. "Things are complicated! I'm going with the flow, for now, because actually figuring things out might take some time."

"No, you're making it complicated," sighs Jungkook. "Just say you're a ghoul. That's that."

"But I'm not! At least, not in the same way you two are," Taehyung exclaims. His head is aching again. "I know who I was, okay?" His hands curl into tight fists, his fingernails pressing hard into his skin.  "Right now, I don't know exactly who I am. Neither do you two. Frankly, you guys know just as much as me."

A wad of paper, thrown by Yoongi, gets tossed at Taehyung's head. "We're getting heavy, let's not. It's too early in the morning, and I would _seriously_ rather not."

Taehyung calms down, feeling his heart rate slow, and nods. "Sorry," he says, apologetic. "Once again, still in an identity crisis." The paper ball, having landed in his lap, sparks the attention of Jungkook, who takes it and unravels it. "What's on it?" asks Taehyung curiously.

"A drawing," Jungkook responds, his lips quirking up. "Hyung did a good job on this one," he praises lightly as he passes the paper to Taehyung.

Yoongi chimes, "I drew a rough outline of your mask for ya, kid. Tell me what you think." He sits back in his chair, taking another drink of his coffee.

The sketch isn't made from the most impressive hand, but Taehyung can see the overall idea Yoongi is trying to express to him. The mask has a peculiar design, covering the lower half of the face and neck, large bolts constructed on the sides. The measurements Yoongi had taken earlier are written off in the corner of the page, and on the mask itself, there is a full set of teeth and gums drawn, appearing almost skeleton-like. It's a work in progress, obviously, but Taehyung knows that he'll definitely like it when the product is finished.

"It's neat," he marvels. "But..." His expression falls. "I still don't know why I need it."

Leering, Yoongi lays a hand on his cheek and replies, "For protection." He stretches his arms high above his head, moaning slightly. " _Our_ identities are at stake."

Taehyung tilts his head to the side, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, innocent one," Yoongi begins, sifting through his drawers once again, "there are things a ghoul must do to survive that are rightfully unlawful in this human infested world. We can’t expose our faces." He pauses. "Wait a second, I actually wouldn't say infested..."

"Dominated," Jungkook offers, dry.

Yoongi snaps his fingers and grins. "Jungkook, my boy, you really know how to get to me." In the bottom rightmost drawer, he pulls out a variety of fabric strips, along with clanking metal accessories. "Taehyung, you're cool with leather?" A nod from Taehyung. "Got any color recommendations? I'd suggest dark ones, so you won't notice when it's dirty."

"Black is good," Taehyung replies. "Simple, clean, and classic!"

"Such pure thoughts," Yoongi says, baffled. He grabs a pair of scissors from the shelf above him and begins to cut into the leather, quickly and skillfully moving his fingers with precision. "Hang around with Jungkook more. Maybe you'll rub off on him."

Jungkook scoffs, "That's not how people work, hyung." He sneaks a glance at Taehyung. "We're not even gonna see each other much. He's in college right now." Taehyung nods cheerily in agreement.

Yoongi stops cutting and leans back in his chair, arching an eyebrow. "Ah, so _that's_ how it is." He rubs at his chin, carefully narrowing his eyes. "So how long has it been since you two have--"

All of a sudden, there are incessant knocks on the door interrupting him. Yoongi sighs heavily and begrudgingly gets up to answer it, undoing all the locks and such. When he opens the door, a taller gentleman stands outside, full lips and a prominent nose, dressed in a windbreaker and earmuffs. The visitor steps inside and shuts the door behind him, giving Yoongi a placid clap on the shoulder before maneuvering around the mannequin filled basement.

"Mornin'," the new arrival greets happily. Upon seeing Yoongi's other guests, he grins politely and waves. "Hello, kids! Nice to see the younger generation up so early." He turns to Yoongi and smirks. "I'm genuinely surprised you're up, too."

"Don't give me sass, Jaehwan," Yoongi huffs. Amongst the clutter on his desk, he pulls out a green plastic folder and hands it to the newcomer. "This is all you want, right? I'm busy now, so hurry up and shoo."

"Ah, I was hoping to share some stories with you over a cup of fresh blood," Jaehwan whines, clutching the folder to his chest childishly.

Yoongi pushes him away, literally, back to the door. "Not in the mood," he grumbles. "I'll meet you tonight." He gives a brief look at Jungkook and Taehyung, sighing. "Later. When I'm more awake."

"Fine, that's fair enough." Jaehwan grips the handle of the door, almost a turn away from opening it, but twists around to say something to Yoongi, hushed. "Choa's gone for good. Hongbin's pissed for now. Lock this door tight, because he's been on a rampage for answers." He glances at the pair on the couch, who stares at him inquiringly, and offers a brief farewell, exiting the basement with the door slamming behind him.

"What was that all about?" Taehyung asks.

Yoongi shakes his head as he heads back to the desk. "The less you know the better -- in this case, at least." He goes back to mending Taehyung's mask, pressing fabric and leather together as one. "Once you get into another ghoul's business, there's no way out for you. Stuck forever in a loop of bad decisions."

Taehyung swallows nervously. Jungkook nudges his leg and asks quietly, "You okay? Do you want to leave? I can pick up your mask another day."

"No, I can wait," Taehyung assures. He clears his throat. "But if I'm speaking honestly, this place creeps me out. There's too much... gore."

Snorting, Yoongi latches onto a nearby mannequin's arm, making a face. "My style is of this sort. _Unique_." He runs his finger along the fiberglass cheekbones, seemingly losing himself in thought. "Hey, Taehyung," he says, his gaze fixed on the unmoving features of the model, "how do you feel about eye patches?"

Taehyung furrows his eyebrows. "Like, the ones for pirates or actual ones?"

"Either."

"They're cool." Taehyung grins. "I like them! They make me look fresh."

"Okay, great. I'm adding one to your mask," Yoongi declares, with conviction. "Which eye is your shining one? Left or right?"

Taehyung answers immediately, "Left," and he's not entirely sure how he knows that. Jungkook and Yoongi don't notice anything unusual, though, so they all go back to conversing normally. He eventually takes off his coat and scarf, hanging it on the same mannequin Jungkook had hung his things on, but on the opposite arm -- where a ruby-embedded bracelet shines on the wrist.


	7. new files

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont think i'll update this for a while, soooo if you'd like to go [ask me some questions here](http://ask.fm/fruti2flutie). i have a majority of the storyline figured out, but i wont give away spoilers (ㆆᴗㆆ)
> 
> also i made a legit summary now woot woot

"Smells good!" Hoseok sings. He sets his chin on his partner's shoulder, looking down at the sizzling pan of frying noodles and vegetables. "Namjoonie, where'd you learn how to cook like this? I'm almost drooling!"

Namjoon, puffed by the praise, replies, "My mother taught me. My family owns a restaurant in Ilsan." He smiles nostalgically. "I had to work there during my middle school years. After I got moved up from dishwasher, my mom let me use the stove."

Hoseok laughs loudly as he pops a golden onion into his mouth, scampering to the cabinets to grab plates. "It's hard to imagine you in a little apron," he trills. "Your expression must've been killer!"

After the mission that nearly lasted until dawn, Hoseok and Namjoon brought their briefcase back to the headquarters, giving it to a hardworking engineer to lock down in the labs, and left the car in the parking garage. On foot, they had walked back to their apartment, eyes in search of an open restaurant to qualm their rumbling stomachs. Of course, nothing was open yet, except for 24-hour convenience stores and McDonald's. Namjoon immediately shot down Hoseok's hopes for nine servings of hash browns and visited the store closest to their apartment building, doing a quick errand run for groceries.

It's almost eight in the morning, now, and Namjoon is almost done with making breakfast for two. Nothing too fancy, just kimchi stir-fried noodles. Namjoon is good at the simplicity of the dish and Hoseok likes to slurp noodles, so it's a win-win scenario. With the plates set up on the table in front of the television, the two of them rest on the couch with their chopsticks in hand (Hoseok's are striped rainbow, while Namjoon's are regular metal).

"Thank you for the food, Namjoonie!" Hoseok announces in a happy, high-pitched voice, right before he starts stuffing his face. He attempts to say something else, but with his mouth full it sounds like he's transformed into a gurgling drainpipe.

Namjoon sighs. "Chew your food," he chides.

Hoseok wrinkles his nose and swallows what's left in his mouth, lips quickly quirking up to reveal a toothy grin. "It's delicious!" he exclaims happily. "We should eat this every day!"

"Do you really think we'd have enough time for that? You're barely decent by the time I'm dressed for work," says Namjoon, snapping at his partner with his chopsticks.

"Maybe _sometimes_ ," Hoseok revises. He turns on the television, flipping to the cartoon channel. "We eat out so much, you know? Practically every day! There are holes in my wallet!"

"We split the check," Namjoon deadpans.

Hoseok casually disregards the statement. "After this, Namjoonie, we should go get some coffee," he hums. "I need something to perk me up for work!" He slaps both his cheeks for emphasis as he yells, "I'll fall asleep for sure!"

Namjoon shakes his head. "No need to go to work. Jaebum called earlier to say that we don't need to come in, so. A break day."

"When did he tell you that?" Hoseok asks curiously.

"When you were cleaning the snack shelves at the store," responds Namjoon, eyeing him thoughtfully. "We can go out for coffee tomorrow." He holds his hand over his mouth as he yawns. "The mission got me super exhausted."

Hoseok makes a whiny noise of disagreement. "But coffee tastes the best in the morning, when you're the sleepiest... Don't you agree?"

"Well, I can't argue with that." Namjoon rubs at his face, weary. "Are you willing to walk around for who knows long, looking for a legitimate cafe? We haven't even seen one yet, and I don't want McDonald's or Starbucks."

"Ay, Namjoonie, do you doubt my determination? I'll walk around for hours!" He hunches his shoulders and looks at his partner with pleading eyes. "As long as you come with me, that is."

Namjoon feels a slight blush color his cheeks. "Of course I will," he murmurs, and Hoseok yips in glee, going back to slurping his noodles and watching _Pororo_ on the TV screen.

\--

When he was an intern at the CCG headquarters last winter, Namjoon had been known as one of the most diligent. He arrived an hour earlier than he was requested to, helped out the sections he wasn't assigned. Many of the employees were skeptical of his actions, but Namjoon had a reason for acting the way he did -- the close dream of becoming an investigator. In the following spring, Namjoon applied and subsequently got a simple desk job stacking and filing papers.

No one would listen to any input he would offer about the cases he heard around the building, since he was only a figure in the easily disposable workers category. It took time, but Namjoon's extensive strategic skills and knowledge regarding ghouls were recognized by his colleagues, when the advice he gave to a Rank 2 Investigator saved her life. (It had been something so pathetic that Namjoon has already forgotten what it was.)

Talk of the "young genius" came around through every floor: how he was only twenty, wasn't even a Bureau Investigator let alone a graduate of any Academy. Plenty of rumors sprung from there -- Namjoon's favorite had been secretly living as a spy from Japan. The vast attention soon reached the administrators of the CCG, and Namjoon was honored to take the role of a Rank 3 Ghoul Investigator (aka part of the "special exceptions" who have not gone to the Academy).

In the field, with normal Rank 2 investigators, Namjoon performed at a below average level, surprising all those around him. His skills with the pseudo-ghoul weapons were decent, at best. Clumsy and clammy-palmed, Namjoon always seemed to get his missions completed by sheer luck. Using his body over his brain wore him out, and no one expected him to last longer than a month after his promotion. Many talked of downgrading him to the Bureau; however, the administrators saw something special in him. During mid-summer, they stripped him completely of his weapons yet gave him a shared case with a partner, not a group.

Jung Hoseok, Rank 3 Ghoul Investigator. The name was unfamiliar to Namjoon, who could recognize and name almost everyone working in the CCG at Seoul from of the top of his head. Apparently it was unfamiliar to everyone; Jaebum, Mark, and countless others had no idea who this mystery investigator was. In fact, Namjoon was the first to meet him -- at a small hospital in Gwangju, coloring his gown with markers, the stitches on his body red not from blood but from design.

Hoseok's first words to Namjoon were said straightforwardly: "Are we gonna kill ghouls together?" Namjoon had no answer for him then, but they did. Dozens of them. Without a weapon weighing Namjoon down, he was able to put his mind to work in the field as Hoseok followed the commands he gave effortlessly, when to speak or when to fight or when to kill. Hoseok was a god with his scythe, and Namjoon was a god with his brain. Together, they were rapidly promoted to Rank 2 investigators in late October, only three months after teaming up.

While Hoseok's personality was odd, Namjoon didn't think too much of it since they only worked together for missions and never interacted anywhere else. After successfully finishing a whopping forty missions and getting closer (one-sidedly), Hoseok offered his apartment to Namjoon, who had been staying at shabby boarding house since getting his first job at the CCG. It sounded like a reasonable idea; Hoseok's apartment was of walking distance to the headquarters, and the rent would be a significantly lower price than the boarding house. Namjoon agreed, but he was not prepared for the consequences of the action: Hoseok's endless affections and coddling.

But, thankfully, a positive to staying by the elder's side almost 24/7 means that Namjoon has gotten used to the overly sweet Hoseok. It can be tiring at times, but Namjoon has discovered that it's part of Hoseok's overall charm, dare he say, as an eccentric partner. Although he's determined on his path to becoming a Special Class investigator one day, Namjoon doesn't particularly mind having to share some time with Hoseok.

"Brrr," Hoseok chimes, breaking Namjoon out of his thoughts. He buries his face into his scarf, his bare hands shaping a lopsided snowball. "It's cold, Namjoonie."

Namjoon pokes the snowball with his finger, and Hoseok recoils defensively. "You're holding frozen water right now; of course you'd be cold."

Hoseok pouts. "I wasn't _complaining_ ," he claims, and he drops his snowball dramatically, dusting off his hands. "I'm just _observing_."

"Sure you are." Namjoon rolls his eyes and, due to the lack of attention, almost slips on a patch of ice, holding out both of his arms to steady himself. "Um," he says, "I'm okay."

Helping Namjoon, a hand at the small of his back, Hoseok guides them for the rest of the way -- wherever that may be. The streets aren't that crowded, given that it's freezing outside and still a bit early, so it's easy to inspect each passing store. No sign of any coffee shops, though, to the pair's dismay. Namjoon is about to call it quits when Hoseok drags him down a wide street, until they're both standing directly in front of a two-story cafe.

"Do you think this will be a good place?" Namjoon asks, taking in the natural exterior of the building. "Looks... plain."

"Hey, Namjoonie, that's a no-no! Haven't you heard the classic saying, 'don't judge a book by its cover'? Goodness." Hoseok inhales deeply, closing his eyes. "Ah, you can smell the coffee from here. It's definitely fresh."

Namjoon sniffs at the air, but his effort is fruitless -- he can only smell the frigidness of the cold wind, his stuffy nose hindering his sniffing ability. "This _would_ be a good place to warm up," he begins, "but the sign says it's closed."

"Huh!?" Hoseok flies to the window, his hands pressed against the glass, and gapes incredulously at the red text on the hanging sign. "Aw, man," he grumbles, frowning. "Wait, but the lights are on! So someone should be in there, right?"

"Well..." Namjoon trails off. He spots someone moving in the back corner of the shop, to another door that seems to lead to a set of stairs. "I think I see a worker. Maybe you should--"

"Namjoonie, I'm gonna bust into this joint right now because it _really_ smells awesome and I want some coffee, okay. You can't stop me!" Hoseok swiftly disappears into the cafe, thankfully not needing to break down the door since it's not locked.

Namjoon sighs. "Maybe you should go inside and ask them when they'll be open, Hoseok. Maybe you should do that," he mutters to himself, pulling open the door and following his partner.

The inside of the cafe is typical, not incredibly casual or fancy, a handful of vegetation on the counters and shelves. Somehow Hoseok has bounded out of sight, and Namjoon decides to wait for his return while seated at a table to avoid unnecessary wandering. Inside the shop he can unmistakably smell roasting coffee beans -- it makes his mouth feel dry.

When Hoseok reemerges, it's from another door, presumably the kitchen, and the worker is dragging him out by the collar. "Ow ow ow ow ow--"

"Welcome to Cypher," the worker says, smiling, as he tosses Hoseok in Namjoon's direction. "I'm sorry you didn't read the sign, but I'll look past it. My name is Seokjin, and I'm the owner of this establishment."

Hoseok curls up in a chair, huddling close to Namjoon. "I'm sorry for all those times I barged in on you while you were in the bathroom, Namjoonie," he mumbles. "It was uncalled for and not polite."

Namjoon lets out a short laugh and pats Hoseok on the head, as if he's soothing an unsettled kitten. "We're a bit new to this area. We're trying to find a place that has good coffee," he says to the owner.

Seokjin hums, "So that's why you came in here?"

Nodding meekly, Hoseok explains further, "We mean no harm, sir. All I want is a frappuccino. Please. With some whipped cream and sprinkles on top."

"Sprinkles?" Seokjin and Namjoon say in unison, the former considerably more confused than the latter. "We don't have sprinkles here," Seokjin says. "I can get you a normal frappuccino, though. Vanilla, so it tastes just as sweet."

Hoseok beams. "Thank you!" he chirps.

Namjoon adds, "May I have an americano, too?"

"I don't see why not," Seokjin responds playfully. "I'll be right out with your orders. Just give me a few minutes."

While Seokjin goes to the kitchen, Hoseok lays his arm flat on the table, expression sullen. "Hm," he sighs. "Hm. Hm, hm, hm... Hm."

"What's wrong?" Namjoon asks, not entirely curious but knowing that Hoseok would groan until he would say something.

Hoseok hums some more, his lips curved downwards. "Don't you think," he starts slowly, "this place feels weird? Like, something feels off?"

Namjoon looks around. Nothing is left out of place, nor is anything dirty. "No," he answers simply. "What makes you say that?"

"I dunno, maybe I'm..." Shrugging evasively, Hoseok rolls around in his seat and buzzes his lips. "Seokjinnie hyung! Do you have pastries here? I'm hungry!"

Namjoon scoffs, "What are you calling him 'hyung' for? And you just had breakfast."

Hoseok squeals in his highest pitch, reaching out to pinch Namjoon's cheeks. "Is my Namjoonie jealous? Because I can't call you my 'hyung' like that? Namjoonie, you're so adorable!"

"Stop that, Hoseok," Namjoon chides. "I am not _jealous_. Stop grinning, you're creeping me out." As soon as Seokjin returns to their table, a tray of drinks in his hand, Namjoon asks quickly, "How old are you?"

Seokjin's head quirks at the question, but he still replies to it politely, "No older than thirty." He sets their drinks down on the table -- Hoseok's in a tall glass, striped straw sticking out of the glob of whipped cream, and Namjoon's steaming in a teal china cup plated on a matching saucer.

"So twenty-nine?" Hoseok guesses cheekily, lips curved into a smile around the tip of his straw.

"Twenty-three," Seokjin answers, not rising to the bait, tucking the tray under his arm. "My birthday was in the beginning of December, so this is a new age for me. Neat, huh?"

Hoseok sits back, surprised, and murmurs to himself, "Oh, he really is older than me." Namjoon snickers as he takes a sip of his coffee. It tastes incredibly fresh, and strong.

Seokjin chuckles warmly. "I heard one of you say something about pastries?" Hoseok's arm shoots up in the air, fingers wiggling. "Ah, the one with red-crosses." Hoseok touches one of his stitches fondly, smiling. "Do you have a preference?"

"Muffins!" cheers Hoseok. "Blueberry!" Seokjin nods, amused at his enthusiasm, and goes back to the kitchen. "I hope he makes them warm. They're really good when they're warm."

"I can't believe you're not full," Namjoon says, shaking his head in disbelief.

Hoseok tilts his whole body to the side, blinking slowly, and there's a glint in his eye that Namjoon mistakes as mischief. But then as quick as it had come it disappears as Hoseok's grin takes over his entire face. "I'm not, Namjoonie! I'll take it as a snack for later!"

"That makes more sense." Namjoon stares, a little shocked, at the inside of his empty cup. It had seemed that there was more, but apparently not. He's sad -- it was a great cup of americano, and Namjoon had drunk it all thoughtlessly.

The rhythmic pounding on the table, from Hoseok, alerts Namjoon of Seokjin's second return. "Muffins, muffins! He's back with muffins!" Hoseok sings. "Oh? Muffins? Two muffins?"

"For the both of you," Seokjin proclaims. "I'll give them to you for the price of one, on the house. It's not often we get new customers."

Namjoon and Hoseok take their muffins, grateful. "Thank you very much," says Namjoon. "How much is the bill?" It's not that large, and Hoseok offers to pay the entire tab, given that this expedition had been mainly his doing. After they're done with their drinks, they set out to leave, bowing to the owner as they head out the door.

Seokjin waves at them. "Come back soon!" he declares.

With light steps, Namjoon places his hands in his pockets and faces Hoseok, inquiring, "So? Do you think that was good coffee?"

Hoseok steps onto the curb and carefully walks along it, humming a tune, balancing his muffin on his head. "Really good," he says, but not entirely pleased. "I'm not gonna go there again. I don't know, but... Gives me the jeebies."

Namjoon makes a face. "Seriously?" He stares at the sky, where snow is starting to descend on them. "I'll go without you, then. I like it there." Feeling playful, he adds, "I'll ask for a to-go cup for you next time."

Grinning, Hoseok leans over to fluff up Namjoon's hair, cooing, "Namjoonie is the best." Later, when they reach their apartment building and enter the elevator, he takes a bite out of his muffin and grimaces. "Bleh," he blurts. "The blueberries are sour."

\--

Namjoon sees the familiar manila folder on his desk and suppresses a groan. "Hoseok, we have another case," he says out loud, hoping that his partner can hear from wherever he is in the office.

"Seriously?" Hoseok whines, huddled under Jaebum's desk. "We just finished the last one yesterday!" Since they're the first ones in the office today, he had been planning on surprising their supervisor out of his wits.

"It's our job to do this," Namjoon declares dutifully, scooting in his chair.

Hoseok emerges from under the desk and mutters distastefully, "Pissy job."

As he sifts through the folder, Namjoon absently scolds, "Watch your mouth, hyung." It takes him a moment, but he pauses. He squeezes his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Hoseok, please, _please_ pretend you didn't hear--"

"Namjoonie called me _hyung_! Oh my stars, he called me _hyung_! He finally did it! It's been months! Namjoonie finally did it!" Hoseok twirls around the office, prancing about, energy boosted a hundred percent. Someone walks through the door, and Hoseok grasps them by the arms. "Youngjae, Youngjae! Namjoonie called me _hyung_ for the first time _ever_! Can you believe it!?"

The Bureau Investigator blinks several times to regain his center, smiling unsurely. "Congrats...?" he says carefully. The moment Hoseok lets go of him he escapes out of the office in an awkward sprint.

"Please, Hoseok--" Namjoon says, trying to get his partner to settle down. "Hoseok, can you just sit down for a minute--" Hoseok continues to bound off the walls, almost literally. " _Hyung_!"

Hoseok stops immediately and looks straight at Namjoon, teasing, "Mm?"

Sighing tiredly, Namjoon motions Hoseok to come by his desk. "Mild debriefing. Okay?" he declares. Hoseok crawls his way there and kneels on the ground, peeking up at the folder. "There are a lot of papers here; I'll read those later. Only a couple photos--" A flash of blue is captured in a semi-identifiable picture, and Namjoon pulls it out to hold in front of Hoseok. "Hey, don't you recognize her?"

Eyes wide, Hoseok nods excitedly. "It's the Neon Binge Eater! Wow, how cool!" he marvels. "Waah! We all thought she went missing!"

"Yeah, that's what it says. Our job is to find her," Namjoon states. "She was last seen in Seoul, okay, about a month ago..." The documents in the folder seem to have no end, and he runs a hand through his hair in slight annoyance. "Ah, so many papers."

Hoseok, who would normally play with Namjoon's post-it notes during these times, is unexpectedly paying close attention to what Namjoon explains about the case, down to every monotonous detail mentioned. "I think this one will be _fun_ ," he trills, smiling, when Namjoon gives him an expression of skepticism.

At one point Hoseok takes a green highlighter from Namjoon's office supply cup and begins to mark items of interest in the report. _Blood Weapon: ~4 Claw-Like Tentacles_. Highlight. _Victims have included young adults, majority male, with their organs taken from the corpses._ Highlight. _No known affiliation with standard ghoul cliques._ Highlight. _Rank: S, lethal. Proceed with caution_. Highlight, underline, asterisk.


	8. rookie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey-yo. i'm uploading this now so i dont forget, but i might go back to edit it later bc i am. very tired.   
> [ask me some questions here bc i am lazy](http://ask.fm/fruti2flutie).  
> [i live on tumblr bc i am lazy](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com)....

Taehyung thinks that the bowtie doesn't suit him. He reminds himself of that penguin from Happy Feet — the one that was super cute but also terribly tone-deaf. "Hey," he says, to no one in particular. "Do I look like a flightless bird right now?"

"Hm?" Seokjin hums, from behind the counter, as he polishes the mugs. "Why do you ask that?"

"I'm just—" Taehyung twists his lips thoughtfully. His index finger and thumb pinch one end of his bowtie, like he's debating whether or not to take it off now or later. "Should I have gone with the tie? Like you?"

Seokjin looks up and props his arms on the counter, smiling in amusement. "You've been here for four days, Taehyung, and you've been managing just fine in that outfit. I'm sure you can figure this out on your own."

Tugging fretfully at his black blazer, Taehyung paces around in a circle to ease his tensions. He mutters "bowtie or regular tie?" to himself over and over again until he gets dizzy and has to slide down onto a seat, slumping resignedly. No customers are here at the moment, now close to closing time, so no one but Seokjin is able to see Taehyung's internal and external anguish. When Jungkook comes back from running errands, a black bag hanging off his wrist, he quirks an eyebrow at the scene as he gives the groceries to Seokjin.

"Did I miss something?" he asks, giving Taehyung a look of questioning.

"Taehyung is having trouble with his choice of neckwear," responds Seokjin. "Want to give him some tips? Bowtie or tie?"

Jungkook stares at Taehyung and huffs, "Wear whatever you want."

"But it's not that simple," cries Taehyung, the personification of despair. "The bowtie is a good look, but it _looks_ weird on me! Should I put on a tie? Would the tie make me look weird, too?" He throws his hands up in the air, defeated. "Ah, this is too hard!"

Shaking his head, Jungkook leans against the counter and wonders aloud, "Life has never looked so bleak in my eyes."

Taehyung is somewhat offended at that. He gives Jungkook his most dissatisfied glare, which only makes Jungkook laugh and leave to the kitchen. "You know," Taehyung starts, arms crossed, "I don't think he likes me very much."

Seokjin frowns, scrunching his eyebrows. "What? That can't be true. Jungkook only hates—" The door opens, and he interrupts himself to greet the customers, a couple who seems to be on a date. They seat themselves at a table for two, reading through the paper menu, while Seokjin returns to the conversation with Taehyung. "Jungkook doesn't hate you. I'm sure he likes you enough," Seokjin continues, head cradled in his arms.

"Okay," Taehyung says, but it's obvious he isn't convinced. The thing is, Jungkook has been cautious around Taehyung from the very beginning, when they first met at the cafe over a month ago. As time has passed, wholly unforeseen events occurring, they've grown closer — to a point. Jungkook seems to have a sturdy wall built up around him, either keeping everyone else out or himself in. Seokjin clearly knows how to get past it, because he and Jungkook look as close as Jimin and Taehyung normally do. Their relationship, as far as Taehyung knows, is akin to brothers.

Speaking of Jimin, Taehyung's phone vibrates in his pocket with a new message from his best friend, who is still staying with his family in Busan. It says, quite frankly: _i love u so much why arent u here are u feeling better_. The sentiment makes Taehyung grin, and he holds his phone close to his chest after he replies with: _yes i am feeling good xoxo miss you too_. He sighs fretfully.

Taehyung hates leaving Jimin in the dark. They've been friends for years, with no secrets between one another, and yet after everything that's happened to Taehyung, he hasn't told Jimin a single thing. No news to his ghoul-fascinated friend about almost being killed by a ghoul, meeting several ghouls in hiding, how Taehyung may possibly be a ghoul. Nothing of the sort. All Taehyung has relayed to Jimin is his state of wellness and that he's working at "this really nice cafe" now, which is _technically_ the truth. But it doesn't feel _right_.

Seokjin is having Taehyung work at Cypher so he can receive "ghoul lessons." They haven't done anything yet, but after today's shift, Seokjin has promised to officially introduce Taehyung to the infamous ghoul lifestyle. It really isn't something to be excited about, but Taehyung is Taehyung and will find the good in everything.

The clock rolls around to eight p.m., and Seokjin switches over the sign at the front window to read _closed_. "We're finally done for the day," he sings. "Taehyung, Jungkook, where'd you go?"

"Wiping down the tables," Jungkook responds, from the other side of the cafe.

"Sweeping up the floors," replies Taehyung, zooming around the tables. "We'll be done real soon, hyung!"

Seokjin places his hands on his hips, nodding in approval. "This kind of atmosphere makes Cypher feel like a real business. I like it."

"Is it not?" Taehyung clasps his hands over the top of the broom and rests his chin on them. "You sell food and drinks, with waiters and tables, so you're in the restaurant business. Right?"

Giving him a polished smile, Seokjin wordlessly leaves the room and heads to the stairwell leading upstairs, keeping Taehyung without a proper confirmation. Suddenly, Jungkook surprises Taehyung by patting him on the back, his washcloth in his other hand. "He'll be waiting for you in the office," he says, casual. "Hyung tries to be mysterious sometimes, but he just looks like a dork."

"I thought that was a cool exit," mumbles Taehyung, starting up his sweeping again.

Jungkook snorts. "Don't tell Seokjin hyung that or it'll go to his head." Tossing his washcloth onto a nearby table, he continues cleaning the tabletops as Taehyung finishes up the floors. "After we change, we can go up together."

—

Seokjin's office is relatively quainter than the entire shop. There are oil and acrylic paintings framed on the walls, mostly of animals and flowers, and lined against those walls are glass-cased wooden cabinets — some filled with ceramic plates and bowls, others have tiny figurines. There are two teal couches in the center of the room, shaped to form a disconnected 'L', and a glass coffee table near its junction. There's a leafy plant in the corner of room, and a vase of flowers and a stack of novels on top of the coffee table. The filing cabinet pushed at the very corner of the room looks completely out of place, its monotone color and design clashing the smooth layout of the space.

"Take your time," Seokjin says to Taehyung as he admires the room. He looks totally relaxed on the sofa, legs crossed, with a thick book open in his lap. "I'm in no rush."

Jungkook bumps Taehyung's side and rolls his eyes. "Well," he drawls, collapsing on the opposite couch, limbs splayed. "I wanna leave, so. Taehyung, hurry it up."

Shutting the door behind him, Taehyung heads inside the room and scratches his head. "Why do you need to be here, Jungkook? Can't you go home?"

Jungkook tugs at the hair below his ear, pursing his lips. "If you don't recall, I live in the next room over."

"Also, he's here as my assistant," adds Seokjin. "Jungkook, pay Taehyung some more respect. He's your elder, you know."

"I know," mutters Jungkook. Taehyung plops beside him, then, and Jungkook scorns, "Why are you so _close_?" Taehyung responds with a grin, which Jungkook attempts to shove out of his face. The cycle repeats like that, Taehyung acting playful while Jungkook does the same, with borderline hostile threats.

Butting into the pair's own little world Seokjin turns a page of his book and interjects, "Just tell me when you're ready to start, Taehyung. Once again, no rush. This is your time."

"Sorry," Taehyung says, smiling apologetically. He straightens his back and puts on a serious expression, hands folded together in his lap. "Ready and set to learn, hyung."

Seokjin smiles and puts down the book. "Hm... What should I start with first? There's a lot to cover." He stands up and taps the pad of his thumb on his lips, contemplating hard, until he raises his index finger and declares triumphantly, "Eating."

Taehyung instinctively shudders. He and "food" haven't been getting along lately. The first time he willingly ate, it was because he had been unknowingly starving himself and was sure to breakdown if he had not eaten. Only a few days have passed since then, but Taehyung hasn't been able to work up the courage to eat anything again, even with assurance from Seokjin (and partially Jungkook) that he would be fine. There's a certain fear that goes along with it — of the blood, of the whole concept of eating dead humans — that creeps into the back of his mind when he sees a plate of "food" in front of him.

"No, thank you," he says, as he holds down a grimace. "I'll pass on this one."

"This is incredibly important, Taehyung," Seokjin proclaims, stern. "If you're going to be a ghoul, you have to fit in with the human crowd. You can't let others be suspicious of your actions."

"Well, I don't plan on murdering someone for lunch on campus anytime soon," Taehyung says, attempting humor. It causes Seokjin to shake his head, affronted, and Jungkook to chortle.

"Try to keep those kinds of jokes to a minimum," scolds Seokjin. "And I'm not talking about _that_ kind of food." He points to Jungkook, and then the door. "Make me a sandwich, please."

Jungkook scowls. "Ah, you damn—" He bites his tongue. "What am I using for the ingredients?" he asks gruffly, standing up.

"Lettuce, tomatoes, cheese—" Leaving midway through Seokjin's sentence, Jungkook exits the room and slams the door behind him. Seokjin sighs. "Don't forget the bread," he mutters in vain.

"Um, hyung," Taehyung begins carefully. "Why do you need a real sandwich? You can't eat it... can you?"

"Of course I can't," Seokjin confirms. "No ghoul is able to digest human food. We don't have the proper proteins to enjoy them either."

Taehyung's expression turns more baffled. "Then why...?"

"I have to teach you how to _pretend_ ," proclaims Seokjin, tone sounding like a teacher about to start a lesson on the alphabet. "Eating is something humans do upon instinct. It usually accompanies typical social activities. When someone offers you a bite, you can't always turn it down. Not eating is a sign of being uncomfortable, out of place. You don't want that."

"Oh," says Taehyung, sitting back, "that makes sense." The crease of his eyebrows still remains as he questions, "But how can you _pretend_ to eat? How does that work?"

Seokjin takes a seat once again, crossing his legs neatly, and holds his hands over his kneecap. "It's simple, really. Once Jungkook comes back, I'll demonstrate. For now, let's have a chat." He picks up his book again and asks, "Do you have a favorite novel, Taehyung?"

Taehyung bites his lip, scratching the nape of his neck. "I don't normally _read_ , in the conventional sense," he admits. "But I like comics, if that counts for anything."

"What's your favorite comic, then?"

"Oh, gosh, um," stammers Taehyung. "It's so hard to choose just _one_ , but I guess — if I _have_ to — it'd be this webcomic that came out a few years back. It's called the _Scarlet Defender_ , and I think it's one of the best out there. Someone with the initials B.S.J. does the entire project on their own."

Seokjin fans the pages of his book back and forth, humming. "A webcomic, hm? Is there anything special about it that makes it stand out from the rest? I don't think I've ever heard of it."

Taehyung beams, eyes glittering with excitement. "Webcomics are never truly included in the mass media, like the way books and dramas are. But on the internet this one in particular is pretty popular here in Korea!"

"Is that so? I never would have imagined."

"It uses semi-realistic art, and the storyline is so attention-grabbing!" commends Taehyung, continuing with flourishing hand motions and a varied tone. "The protagonist leads an unfortunate life, at the start, where she has just moved to the less than glamorous City of Merciless Souls." He whispers, as if he's revealing a hidden secret, "The name gives off a lot of negativity, if you couldn't tell."

Seokjin chuckles bemusedly. "Go on."

"Okay, so no one wants to hire her for work, because she has a dark past — which isn't revealed until chapter seven — and an unusual birthmark on her wrist that's shaped like a crow in mid-flight. One night, when she goes to apply for a job as an usher at a—"

"Oh, I love Usher," interrupts Jungkook, smug, leaning against the doorframe with the sandwich and several napkins in his hand. When two pairs of eyes land on him, he asks sarcastically, "Did I come at a bad time?"

"No," Seokjin says, a breath away from a tired sigh. "Just... hand me the sandwich." Jungkook complies and then returns to his spot on the couch, folding his arms across his chest. "Taehyung, do you mind if I go back to the lesson? Sorry to interrupt you while you're talking."

Taehyung smiles. "It's okay. I can talk about webcomics later."

"Excellent. Now, to understand what I was saying before, watch me closely."

Seokjin takes a large bite out of the sandwich, causing both Jungkook and Taehyung to cringe in disgust. However, astonishing Taehyung, Cypher's manager eats it without any problem. More than fifteen seconds pass, and Seokjin doesn't look like he needs to barf at all. He smiles easily while he chews, finally swallowing his bite and sighing warmly.

"How'd you do that?" Taehyung asks instantly, amazed and slack-jawed.

Taking his seat, Seokjin sets his sandwich on a napkin on the table and begins, "You breathe through your mouth so you're not able to smell it. If you smell it, you have more of a negative reaction while tasting it. While you're chewing, you keep the food inside your cheek rather than on your tongue. That way you can avoid actually tasting it before you swallow it down."

"Huh." Taehyung rubs his chin. "That's complicated."

Seokjin nods. "After you eat, remember that we can't digest human food, so it's inevitable we have to expel it from our stomachs as soon as possible." Taehyung shudders. Puking is never fun. "This process has to be done correctly and efficiently for ghouls to fit in."

"Or you can just, you know, never eat in front of your friends," Jungkook advises, shrugging. "Or, better yet, ostracize yourself and go to school with no friends at all." He gives Seokjin a look akin to a glare. "Not going to school is a reasonable alternative, too."

"Don't listen to him," Seokjin says. "Jungkook doesn't understand a lot of things."

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "I'm offended."

"No, you're _Jungkook_ ," proclaims Seokjin sweetly. Jungkook almost kicks him for that. "Taehyung, do you want to try eating food now? Just like how I explained to."

Taehyung nods his head. "I think I can do it," he states. Picking up the dreadful sandwich, he makes sure to take a long breath from his mouth before chomping down. Unfortunately, he forgets to do several steps and eats it like a normal human would, ending up tasting all the slimy tomatoes, the cardboard-like lettuce, grainy bread—

"Seokjin hyung, he's gonna hurl!"

Thankfully, Seokjin's reflexes are fast enough to whip the trash bin in front of Taehyung so he doesn't dirty the floor. "Let it all out," he comforts, rubbing Taehyung's back. "Doing this naturally takes a load of practice."

"You could've told me that before I fit half the death-wich into my mouth," moans Taehyung, arms wrapped around the trash. "It feels like I've been _poisoned_."

"Dramatic, much," mutters Jungkook.

"You'll be fine," Seokjin assures. "Do you want to try again?"

Taehyung blanches. "Is that a trick question?" He certainly does not want to go through that torture another time, _willingly_.

"It's your choice. We can stop if you want." Seokjin smiles warmly. "This is only our first lesson. You're going to have many more, but being stuck on this... Well, that's okay. We can continue this next time."

That doesn't sit right with Taehyung. This should be something that's easy to accomplish, as long as he _practices_. If he perfects it now, he wouldn't have to worry about it ever again. "Can I try eating smaller things?" he questions, hopeful. "That'd be easier to practice with, right?"

"Oh, he's getting determined," whistles Jungkook. "Whip out the chocolates, licorice, and gumdrops." Expression stoic, he then drawls out, "We're going to have a puke party, and Taehyung's the only one invited."

Seokjin hits his leg. "Are you sure you're fine with this?" he asks Taehyung, concerned.

"I can do this," Taehyung declares firmly.

The next two hours are dedicated to Taehyung's attempts at swallowing down sweets of all kinds without regurgitating them. There are dozens of candy packs in the cafe, leftover from when students accidentally leave behind the boxes on the table, and Jungkook dumps them all on the table. The formerly sweet-toothed Taehyung is both nostalgic and disheartened at the wide array of choices he can't enjoy. But, driven by a newfound fascination with _eating_ , he tries his luck with pieces of candy — but his efforts fail without any signs of success.

Taehyung just _can't_ do it.

Jungkook's presence is of no help, since he just sits there and throws candy at Taehyung (a majority of the time landing in his mouth, which isn't exactly a good thing). Seokjin continuously keeps Taehyung's spirits up, with his constant moral support, but sooner or later his patience seems to begin to thin, too. When the clock strikes eleven, all of them have already surrendered to the night.

"Well," Jungkook says, stretching his arms high above his head, "that was a giant waste of time." Taehyung guiltily hugs his trash can. (Holding it for so long has given him property rights.) "Can I go to my room now?"

"No," Seokjin declares brusquely. He turns to Taehyung and assures, "You took a great step today and made progress. I'm proud of you."

"I thought I'd do better," Taehyung grumbles.

"It's fine, Taehyung. No one is a master in the beginning of learning something new." Seokjin pats him on the shoulder, a paternal gesture of sorts. "All you need is a good rest and another day to do well."

Taehyung sighs heavily. The encouragement is appreciated, but the outcome is less than likely to change. "If you say so, hyung." With the trash can still in his arms, he gets up and heads to the office door. "I'll be heading home, then."

Swiftly, Seokjin stops him by hooking onto the back of his shirt. "Wait just a moment, young man. You aren't going home this late at night — the sun has long set, and it's pitch black out there. It's dangerous in the shadows, even for you."

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" asks Taehyung, confused.

Jungkook frowns. "Did you just call him 'young man'?"

Ignoring the prior comment by Jungkook, like he always seems to do, Seokjin responds cheerily, "You'll stay here at Cypher. We have more than enough room. You can borrow some of Jungkook's clothes as pajamas, too."

"Hell no," Jungkook protests.

"Hell _yes_ ," Taehyung and Seokjin chorus in unison, and they turn to each other in shock before high-fiving victoriously. Jungkook rakes a hand down his face and groans loudly, enough indication of his defeat.

—

Taehyung has the same general body shape as Jungkook, so it's easy to fit him into the younger boy's oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. The logo on the shirt is faded, but it looks like the name of some 90's K-pop group, definitely inactive and long forgotten now. Seokjin tells him that it was actually a hand-me-down from Jungkook's—

Jungkook hits him in the arm to stop another word from escaping.

Oddly enough, Seokjin's bedroom has a strict "no one but me is allowed" policy, and his office creeps Taehyung out when the lights go out, artistic paintings morphing into nightmare fuel. That's why Jungkook is the one to house him for the night, much against his will, his bedroom being the second largest to Seokjin's.

"Your room is colder than I remember," Taehyung mutters upon entering. "It's different." The last time he had been here was only a few days ago, but at that time his head was whirling in all directions and couldn't take in the details of the area.

Honestly, Jungkook is more sentimental then he lets off, pieces of himself scattered throughout the room. Clothes are spread messily over the furniture and at the bottom of his closet. The table at the end of the room holds several piles of notebooks and textbooks, easily overlooked as Taehyung had his first meal there. Jungkook's writing desk is covered in pens and sheet music, most written in by hand, and a laptop with those Skullcandy headphones resting on top. The shelves near the window by his bed hold neatly organized albums, vending machine capsules, and empty photo frames. There are no plants in sight, which makes Taehyung mildly disappointed.

Tossing a blanket on the floor, Jungkook shoves a pillow into Taehyung's arms and sneers, "Go to sleep."

Taehyung blinks slowly. "I thought we were going to share the bed," he says. "It's definitely big enough." He bounces onto the mattress, the pillow in his lap, and pats the space beside him, grinning. "I'll tuck you in, too."

The air around him ice cold, Jungkook furiously shakes his head and pushes the intruder off his bed and onto the floor. "No. No, not happening. You're sleeping on the ground."

Taehyung whines, "Why? Jungkook, please! It's cold down here! I won't kick you, I promise!"

"Not a chance." Jungkook flies under his sheets and growls, "Go to _sleep_."

Settling down on his unfortunate bed, Taehyung purses his lips and insists, "I will, don't worry." Sure enough, not even a minute later, he pipes up quietly, "Jungkook?" No initial response. "Hey? Are you awake?"

" _What_ ," grumbles Jungkook. "We literally just got here. How could I even be asleep?"

Taehyung inquires, grinning, "What's your favorite color?"

The groan Jungkook lets out is so intense that it makes Taehyung chuckle. "Red," Jungkook answers grouchily. "Stop bothering me."

And, of course, the curious soul that is Taehyung is relentless. "What do you like to do for fun?" he asks innocently.

"Nothing."

Taehyung folds his arms under his head. "There must be something," he says.

Rustling his sheets, Jungkook mutters, "Absolutely nothing. I am a hermit."

"Do you listen to music? All those papers over there... You wore those headphones that one time, too," Taehyung recalls. "Was it Christmas Eve? Ah, that doesn't matter. You must like a few genres of music."

"I listen to whatever sounds nice," Jungkook asserts tiredly. "I find new artists and songs in my free time."

Taehyung's smile grows brighter. "So you like to listen to music for fun!"

Jungkook falls silent, probably mulling over how easily he fell for that trick. Sighing, he gives in and proclaims, "Yeah, I do. Music is my thing. Would you go to sleep already?"

"One more question," Taehyung persists, and Jungkook grumbles. "It's a simple one, promise. How old are you?" Pause. "Wait, how do ghouls age? Do they age like vampires? Are you... Are you secretly hundreds of years old!?" He gasps. "Is Seokjin hyung even _older_!?"

Jungkook snorts, clucking his tongue. "We aren't that different from—" He cuts off suddenly, and then clears his throat. "Humans and ghouls age the same way, as far as I know. I turned eighteen in September." Quietly, he adds, "I'm out of high school now."

"That's good," hums Taehyung. "You'll be in college in no time."

Jungkook grunts dismissively. He leans over to peek at Taehyung down below. "So _you_ 're in college right now," he retorts slowly. "So how old are _you_?"

"Well, my birthday is coming up soon, but I'm nineteen." Taehyung sits up and excitedly shakes Jungkook's leg. "My birthday is on the thirtieth!" He beams. "It's close, but not _that_ close."

"Tomorrow is the thirtieth," Jungkook deadpans. "Your birthday is _tomorrow_."

"Oh. So tomorrow is my birthday," echoes Taehyung, sinking to the ground and lying flat. "I would've missed it. Thanks for the reminder, Jungkook. You're a calendar, aren't you?"

"What the hell," scoffs Jungkook. He pulls back part of his blanket and says, "Get up here." Taehyung doesn't move an inch, puzzled, so Jungkook reaches down to pull him onto his bed, covering him with the sheet. "This is my birthday present to you, okay? That's the only reason I'm doing this."

Smiling happily, Taehyung trills in a drowsy laugh, "Thank you."

Jungkook turns to his side, huffing, "Now, for fuck's sake, go to _sleep_." A few minutes later, just as Taehyung thinks he's gone off to dreamland, Jungkook murmurs, "You'd look better with a tie. But we'll like you either way."

Taehyung keeps the sleepy confession in his heart, probably worth nothing but meaning a whole lot to the kid without a family to call home.


	9. by candlelight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is like almost 10k so....... forewarning. 
> 
> also sorry that this took so long to come out,, i hope the length makes up for it??? seriously im so sorry. i'll be pretty busy with school & some work now, so idk when i'll update this again.. trust me, i want to keep writing this forever, but where is the T I M E 
> 
> if you want to contact me or know if i'm still alive, please do it on [ask.fm](http://ask.fm/fruti2flutie), [tumblr](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/), or both. thnx for reading ♥ i love you all so much ♥♥

Jungkook nearly punches Taehyung in the face when the elder's phone, placed precariously on Jungkook's desk at the other side of the room, goes off at full volume while the sun has yet to rise. Scrambling out of bed, Taehyung answers it in a flash. "Hello?" he murmurs, glancing back at Jungkook to make sure he isn't prepping to fight.

" _Happy birthday, dweeb!_ " an excited voice congratulates joyously. " _I'm on my way back from Busan! Are you waiting for me? Hm? Sleepy Tae-Tae, are your eyes even open yet?_ "

Taehyung holds back the urge to scoff and shuffles out of the bedroom. Now that he's in the hallway, he's able to raise his voice above a whisper. "What time did you leave, Jimin?" He remembers their promise together, to hang out officially on Taehyung's birthday, but he hadn't known _when_ his best friend would return back to do so.

" _Around five, so not that long ago. The early bird catches the worm, don't you agree? I figured you'd want me by your side as soon as possible. I don't want to miss another second of your big two-zero!_ "

Fondly, Taehyung can feel his lips curl into a smile. "That means a lot to me," he says, soft. "I really, really, really have missed you. Things here—" He bites his lip, "—haven't exactly been the same without you." What an understatement.

" _Your flattery is too much_ ," Jimin admonishes, feigning modesty. " _But since it's your birthday, I suppose I can allow it. Continue_."

Taehyung leans against the wall. "But I've run out of nice things to say for you," he proclaims, sarcastic. "Oops."

" _Hey! You could start off with how handsome I am, or how great my singing abilities are, or how many pushups I can do, or how good I look in eyeliner, or how knowledgeable I am about_ —"

"Okay, now you're just bragging," snickers Taehyung, rolling his eyes. "The other people on the train must be looking at you like you have a shiny gold star sticker pasted on your forehead."

" _Actually, everyone is asleep besides me. It's weird being the only person awake, honestly_." The yawn Jimin lets out is loud enough for Taehyung to hear. " _Sorry that I'm keeping you up._ "

"Don't say that! I'm happy you called." Taehyung moves his phone from his face to check the time and notes that it's only twenty minutes after five. "You should get some more sleep, too. It's early, and I don't want you dowsing off while we hang out today."

" _Ah, okay. You're looking out for me, ha..._ " Jimin yawns again, bigger, and says, " _I'll see you at the station, Tae-Tae._ "

"Bye, Jiminnie." The call ends with a decisive _click_ , and Taehyung doesn't know whether it made him feel happy or guilty. The sensation in his gut tells him it's a puzzling mixture of both, an icy hot stirring that has him pulling at his hair in frustration. _Conflicted_ is what goes through his head a lot nowadays, and it's not a nice emotion.

Seokjin comes walking up the stairs, then, swinging a fairly empty set of keys around his finger, and sees Taehyung immediately. "What are you doing awake?" he asks. "Why are you out here?"

Taehyung points to his phone before placing it in the pocket of his (technically Jungkook's) sweatpants. "My friend called. I didn't want to bother Jungkook — he's sleeping."

"That's very thoughtful of you," Seokjin beams.

Smiling shyly, Taehyung tilts his head and asks, in turn, "What about you, hyung? Why are you up?"

"Me? Well, I had an appointment," Seokjin responds. "While you're here, Taehyung, can I request something of you?"

"What is it?"

Seokjin leads them to his office, leaving the door open behind him. "It's for your own benefit, but it's an option you have the ability to refuse, of course," he continues, going straight for his filing cabinet. "Have a seat. This might take a few minutes."

Taehyung pads over to the couch and sits, bringing his feet up to sit cross-legged. He taps idly on his calves, inquiring warily, "You're not going to make me read, are you, hyung?"

"No," laughs Seokjin. He opens up a drawer, reaching in and searching for something in particular. "I want to give you something."

"Like... a present?" Taehyung chirps, face lighting up. "Hyung, how did you know that today's my birthday?"

Seokjin's hands pause, and he looks at Taehyung in shock. "I didn't," he swears, eyes wide. "I had no idea! This is a total coincidence, Taehyung. How old are you now?"

Taehyung answers, "Twenty! I'm starting off a new era."

"That's great," Seokjin says. He pulls a box from the drawer, smiling, and sets it on the table, taking a seat beside Taehyung. "Happy birthday."

Taehyung brings the box into his lap and curiously reads the label. "Wait a minute... Is this a box of medical eye patches? For when you have eye infections or cysts?" He squints at Seokjin. "Hyung, are you trying to diagnose me?"

Seokjin chuckles and shakes his head. "You're unstable," he clarifies. "You only have one shining eye, and that isn't a good sign for either humans or ghouls — I'll explain more in the future. A ghoul's eyes are the first things to react when they get overly excited, and since you haven't practiced controlling that state, I suggest you hide it just in case."

Taehyung stares at the box and purses his lips. "Wouldn't that make it hard for me to see? It's like walking around with only one eye open." He squeezes an eye closed and reaches out unsteadily to demonstrate.

"Well, would you rather have that or have someone accidentally see your shining eye?" Seokjin wonders, eyebrow raised.

"You make a good argument, hyung," Taehyung says, with a grin. He takes out an eye patch and wraps it around his ears, adjusting the elastic string so it covers his left eye fully. "How does it look?" he asks, fluffing up his hair. His vision is unbalanced, and it's hard to compensate with only his right eye to see.

"Great," Seokjin praises. "You don't have to wear it when you're only with us, if you're not comfortable with it."

"Thank goodness." Taehyung removes the eye patch without delay and places it in his pocket. "That'll definitely take some time to get used to."

Nodding his head, Seokjin absently straightens the pile of books on the table and takes out a novel wedged in the middle. "Do you plan on doing anything later? Since it's your birthday?"

"I'm going to hang out with my friend, once his train arrives. I'll pick him up, too." Taehyung smiles at the thought. "We haven't seen each other since he left for Busan, so it's going to be emotional for the both of us."

"How come you didn't tell me?" Seokjin frowns. "I'll lose a worker."

Taehyung doesn't want to admit he had forgotten his own birthday, so he offers a weak, "Sorry, hyung. It won't happen again."

Seokjin shakes his head, like he's disappointed but shouldn't have expected more. "When will he be here?"

"An hour-and-a-half, more or less."

Seokjin drums his fingers on the book cover — _Hydrangea_ , the title reads — and suggests, "I could drive you to the station, with it being your birthday and all. It'll save you the cab fare, and you won't get bored on the way there. How does that sound?"

"Like a great idea, hyung! Thanks!" Taehyung engulfs Seokjin in a hug, which catches the elder off guard. "Ah, oops," Taehyung says guiltily. "I'm a hugger. I hug a lot. It's a thing I do."

"That's totally okay," assures Seokjin. "It startled me. No one has hugged me like that for a long time."

Taehyung's face falls. "You should get hugged _at least_ once a week. You could even do it yourself, if you don't like people touching you. Hugging makes the soul fuller. That's what my mom used to say."

"A full soul," echoes Seokjin, smiling faintly. He chuckles under his breath. "Come on, Taehyung. Let's get ready. The station is a long way from here, so we might as well get a head start." He gives Taehyung a onceover, concerned. "Do you need extra clothes again? For when we head out?"

"No, I don't think so. I can just re-wear my outfit from yesterday." He wrinkles his nose cutely. "Jimin won't notice, and that's the only thing that matters today."

Seokjin laughs. "You know, that logic is so simpleminded and lazy that you're reminding me of Jungkook."

Taehyung poses, with a peace sign, and declares, "That isn't such a bad thing."

—

The car Seokjin drives isn't anything fancy — a silver Civic with a couple scratches on the side. Taehyung takes the front seat, de facto keeper of the music that plays from Seokjin's phone. Smooth R&B, which makes Taehyung feel a bit more sleepy but not in a bad way. Once they start driving, he notes that Seokjin is a pretty safe driver, always using the rightmost lane and going exactly at the speed limit. Having been involved in a traffic accident by a reckless driver, it makes Taehyung feel safe.

Seokjin clears his throat. "So how long have you known... Jimin?" He glances briefly to the side, a questioning look on his features. "Is that his name?"

"Park Jimin, yeah," Taehyung says, nodding. "I've known him since I was little — maybe ten or eleven."

"You said you were turning twenty, right?" Seokjin asks, and Taehyung nods again. He whistles. "That's a pretty long time."

Taehyung laughs. He pats his thighs, out of habit, and continues, "Jimin is basically my family — my brother. He's always been there for me, whenever I need him." He adds nostalgically, tugging on the end of his scarf, "Jimin is there when I don't need him, too."

"He sounds like a great person," Seokjin declares, smiling. After another fifteen minutes of driving, he turns into the parking lot at the station and announces, "Ah-ha, we're here! I'll find some place to park, and then we can wait in front of the tracks."

"Okay," says Taehyung. Yawning, he rubs at his eyes and has a sudden thought. "Hyung, should I put on the eye patch now?" he asks, anxious.

Seokjin twists his lips, and then nods his head. "That would be for the best. Your emotional state is bound to be everywhere," he responds. While Seokjin parks the car, Taehyung takes out his eye patch and springs it over his eye, squinting comically, which makes Seokjin chuckle.

"Okay, let's go out and wait for Jimin," proclaims Seokjin.

Shivering in their coats, they head to the platform as the bullet train sounds in the distance. Taehyung stumbles a few times, off-kilter with only one eye to guide him, so Seokjin makes sure to hover close to his side as they're walking. When they get to the center of the platform, Taehyung assures Seokjin he's fine waiting by himself, so the elder takes a seat at a nearby bench and busies himself with his novel.

The train arrives not long after that, whirring past Taehyung and making his hair fly in all directions. His heart is beating fast — and maybe he's nervous — but the doors are opening and there is a one-hundred percent chance that Park Jimin will come out. Only a handful of people walk out of the carriages, dragging along suitcases or carrying backpacks. Taehyung taps his foot, biting his lip, as he scans through every individual that passes him.

Then, there's a hearty, delighted scream that echoes from afar and makes Taehyung's head whip around. He searches through the small crowd for a familiar face that goes with that familiar voice, a grin appearing on his face as a sprinting Jimin enters his field of vision.

After having his rolling suitcase abandoned behind him, Jimin's taut body barrels into Taehyung, at full speed, which almost knocks him onto the ground. "Kim Taehyung!" Jimin buries his face into his neck and wails, arms tight around Taehyung's middle, "Your beloved Jiminnie is back in your arms! Happy birthday! I missed you so much, Tae!"

"Park Jimin!" Taehyung squeals in response, laughing. He pulls away from Jimin and looks at him curiously. "Did you get shorter?" Jimin scowls and pinches his cheek ruthlessly. "Ack! That hurts! Can't you take a joke!?"

"That was a shitty joke," Jimin barks. His temper is quickly eased, and he smiles fondly at Taehyung's white scarf — a mild and deceitful trick as he yanks on it until it practically chokes Taehyung.

"Have some mercy for the recovering hospital patient," rasps Taehyung, grimacing, batting at Jimin's hands so he can let go. "I'm fragile. Delicate."

Jimin scoffs, "You're fine. Everything about you seems to be in tiptop condition..." He trails off, his gaze falling to Taehyung's eye patch. "Well, except for that eye. What happened there?"

Taehyung's hand quickly snaps up to shield it, an attempt that makes him feel silly. "Uh, nothing much," he swears, laughing uneasily. "Nothing for you to worry about."

It doesn't look like Jimin believes him at all, but all he does is sigh and say, "I'm glad." He embraces Taehyung once more, affectionate and full of comfort. "Uh, this is a little out of the blue," Jimin starts quietly, "but there's this _super_ pretty person sitting over there who's staring at your ass."

Having a slight inclination of who Jimin is referring to, Taehyung hums, "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jimin insists, nodding fervently. "Don't look! I'll describe them for you."

Taehyung tries to stop him, but Jimin shushes him as he begins quickly, "They look like they're a trained pianist who just walked out of some high-end jazz cafe, Jesus. Who wears dress shoes in the winter? Great hair, nice visuals, broad shoulders—" He gasps. "Oh, shit, I think they caught me staring."

Snorting, Taehyung pats him on the back and grabs a hold of Jimin's suitcase, walking off. "Okay, that's enough," he chuckles. "Let's go. I have to make sure you haven't scared off our ride."

Jimin's look of pure bewilderment is genuine as Taehyung heads closer and closer to the "pretty person." The moment Taehyung greets them, the pretty person happily returning the sentiment, the realization hits Jimin like a sack of flour.

"What are you standing around for, Jiminnie?" Taehyung yells, waving at him. "Get over here!"

Trudging his feet, Jimin follows the command with an unhappy expression on his face. As he arrives by Taehyung's side, he instantly applies an iron-grip to his best friend's shoulder and curses, hushed, "You're a bastard."

Taehyung grins. "You love me," he responds. He turns to Seokjin and motions for the elder to introduce himself.

Standing up, Seokjin holds out his hand for Jimin to shake. "I'm Kim Seokjin, the manager of the cafe Taehyung works at," he says, and Jimin easily takes the offered hand and shakes it. "You must be Jimin. It's nice to meet you."

Mood recovered, Jimin nods and smiles. "Thanks for taking care of Taehyung for me," he proclaims.  

"No problem at all," says Seokjin. "I'll come drive the car up. You two hang tight, okay?"

After Seokjin is a safe distance away, Jimin grabs Taehyung by his coat lapels and exclaims, "You never said that you were working for a dreamboat!" He shakes him a couple times for good measure. "Seriously — you could've sent me a few pics. He's so— so _gorgeous_!"

"Don't be weird," Taehyung says, escaping from Jimin's grip and dusting himself off. "Seokjin hyung is... really sophisticated."

Jimin narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. "What are you insinuating about _me_?" he questions promptly. Taehyung offers an angelic smile, bright eyes and all, but Jimin still pinches his nose. "Okay, fine. _That_ 's how you're gonna play it."

"I'm innocent until proven otherwise!"

Scoffing, Jimin lets his hands fall to his sides as he asks, "What're we going to start the day with, birthday boy?"

"You can pick," Taehyung answers. "It's my birthday, but you just came back from a long trip. You get your time to shine, as your _welcome home_ from me, and then I'll have mine for the rest of the day."

Jimin suddenly springs another hug on him, arms just as tight as before, and screams elatedly, "Perfect!"

—

With Jimin's suitcase packed in the trunk, their new passenger sits gleefully in the backseat, chatting animatedly with the two sitting at the front, as Seokjin drives them to Taehyung's apartment. Depending on who he's trying to talk to, he grabs onto that person's chair and leans as close as the seatbelt allows him, physically involving himself in the conversation.

"You haven't eaten breakfast yet, right?" Jimin asks. "Let's go to somewhere and eat first! Neither of us normally wakes up this early to get anything done, so it'll be a special event. Seokjin can come, too!"

"Um," Taehyung stammers, nervous, glancing at Seokjin for support. Seokjin doesn't notice, though, so he has to make up an excuse on his own. "I... I already ate, actually." He can see Seokjin smile after he says it, so he must have approved of the save.

" _Whaaaat_ ," whines Jimin, slouching dramatically. "You're kidding me!" He juts out his lower lip, concentrating hard, and then suggests eagerly, "Ooh, how about we go to the cafe you work at? I'll eat whatever, and you can pay for me. How's that?"

"It's not open yet. Not until another hour," Taehyung says swiftly.

Jimin reaches over to poke his cheek. " _Ay_ , don't you have employee privilege?" he asks. His finger comes dangerously close to Taehyung's nostril, so Taehyung swats him away before he can do any funny business.

"I don't think—"

"I can make an exception," Seokjin interjects. Taehyung widens his eyes. "You can be the first customer of the day," he goes on, glancing at the rearview mirror. "You're welcome at Cypher anytime, Jimin. Any friend of our workers is a friend of ours."

Taehyung isn't pleased, but Jimin is too busy bouncing in his seat with joy to care. "Awesome! That's what I'm talking about!" he cheers, laughing. "Seokjin hyung — are you okay being called hyung?" Their driver nods his head, amused. "Okay, great. Seokjin hyung, you're awesome. Totally. You've got the looks, the charms, and I'm only guessing, but you probably have the body—"

"Jimin, you're going to get me fired."

"Seokjin hyung, can I take his job if you fire him?" Jimin asks cheekily. Taehyung turns around to glare at him, unsuccessfully, making Jimin chuckle harder. "Joking, joking. It feels great being back in Seoul!"

The car ride feels a thousand-times more alive with Jimin there, like the heat has been turned up a few notches. Jimin takes over the speaker system; his music playlist is filled with popular tunes, some both Taehyung and Seokjin know. During the songs that neither of them is familiar with Jimin sings along stridently to, and Seokjin even compliments his voice. It inflates his ego, much to Taehyung's chagrin, and he sings that much louder.

When they reach the front of Cypher, Jimin's mouth falls open as he steps out of the car. "Tae, what the hell, man?" he barks. "How could you hide this gem from me? It's so cool!" Seokjin chuckles as he retrieves Jimin's luggage from the trunk.

"I wasn't hiding it," Taehyung proclaims, holding open the door to the building. "I just didn't show it to you because... I couldn't find the time." All three of them walk inside, and he shrugs as they settle at a two-chaired table. "School. Car crash. Hospital. You know the gist."

While he places the suitcase by their table, Seokjin looks at Taehyung, worried. "What happened exactly? Jungkook might have told me something about that, but—"

"No intrusive questions for Kim Taehyung, please," Jimin interrupts, fingers forming a small 'x'. "It was a hard time for him, and I'd rather we not lose his good mood on his birthday, hyung."

Taken aback, Seokjin hums, "Fair enough."

Jimin shuffles the menu through his hands and makes a ticking noise with his tongue, contemplating what to order. "Can I have a raspberry scone?" he says. "And two americanos?"

"Of course." Seokjin bows, a polite mannerism, and leaves to the kitchen.

As he admires the decor of the cafe, Jimin announces coolly, "Sweet place, this is." He frowns. "Are you the only waiter here? That'd be tough."

Taehyung shakes his head. "There's also this guy named Jungkook. He's kind of... hard to approach," he admits. "I don't think he's good with people."

"Hm... That sounds like a challenge to me," Jimin sings, stroking his chin like a plotting villain would do. Taehyung sighs. "What? No one can resist my Busan charms."

"I certainly can," snorts Taehyung.

Jimin flaps his arms, imitating either a mockingbird or rooster (Taehyung can't tell the difference), and squawks. "Are you sure?" he chirps. After every query, he lets out a shrill _peep_ that has Taehyung snickering. "Really, Tae? You sure? Can't resist?"

A fluffy, familiar maroon head appears out of the stairwell door, and Taehyung's eyes light up at the sight. "Ah! Jungkook!" he exclaims, waving excitedly to his coworker who he had unexpectedly bonded with over an impromptu sleepover. "Are you going to serve us?"

Still dressed in his pajamas, only one of his shoes put on properly, and an edgy scowl to boot — the question gets answered without a word out of Jungkook.

Jungkook scratches his stomach, grumbling, "You're too loud." He stares at Taehyung sleepily, narrows his eyes, and grunts, "Why are you wearing that?"

 _That_ , as Jungkook motions around the upper-face area, must mean Taehyung's eye patch. "Oh, you know," he says vaguely, avoiding Jimin's curious gaze. "There's that thing. That happened. You know. So it covers my eye now, and yeah."

It's no surprise that Jungkook has no idea what he's trying to get at. "Huh?"

Taehyung is ready to come up with another elaborate lie to tell in front of Jimin — maybe a rare paper cut or sudden pinkeye — but Seokjin comes back just in time to cut him off, a tray splayed atop his fingertips.

"Oh, good morning, Jungkook!" he greets, setting each of the dishes onto the table. Jimin beams at his perfectly frosted pastry, taking a large bite that's nearly half its size.

Jungkook replies, "Mornin'." He sniffles, rubbing his face with his sleeve. "Can you lend me some money, hyung?"

Seokjin frowns, pulling Jungkook aside. "Didn't I just give you allowance last week?" Taehyung and Jimin automatically tune out of the conversation, focused on their own chit-chat (and, for Jimin, breakfast) as the manager and worker continue to discuss their dilemma.

"You gave it to me so I could run errands for you," Jungkook complains, tone mildly exasperated. "Money for _me_ , hyung."

"What do you need it for?"

Looking away, Jungkook responds vaguely, "I'll figure that out once I get to the shopping district."

"Jungkook," Seokjin sighs. "I can't just send you off with a handful of cash without knowing what you'll do with it. I don't want you to get into anything dangerous."

With a scoff, Jungkook says heatedly, "What would I even do? What _could_ I even do? What crimes am I capable of committing on my own?" He purses his lips. "Look at this face. This is a face of an innocent man."

"Child," corrects Seokjin, lightly knocking his knuckle on Jungkook's forehead. "You know that I worry about you."

"Which is redundant anyway," mutters Jungkook.

"Hey—"

"I just—" interrupts Jungkook pointedly. He swallows. "I just want to get some flowers, okay? And candles." Agitatedly fixing his hair, he adds quietly, "I'll stop by a temple or something for some incense, too."

Seokjin's expression dims. "Oh, Jungkook, I didn't... The dates have slipped my mind entirely, I— I didn't mean to... forget. I'm so sorry."

Jungkook shrugs. "Well, it can't be helped." He asks once more, hushed, "So can I have the money, hyung?"

"Of course. Of course you can." Seokjin hands him his wallet. "Buy everything now so you can leave early tomorrow." He pats Jungkook's cheek, and the younger boy glowers. "Like I said, I—"

"Worry about me. Got it, got it." Jungkook pushes Seokjin's hand off and spins on his heels. He takes his coat and beanie from the backroom, slipping them on as he fixes his shoes. "I'm leaving," he announces, and Taehyung look over at him, puzzled.

"Where are you going?"

Jungkook doesn't give him a straight answer. "I'll be back before we open," he says. He looks at the table of two, both Taehyung and Jimin staring expectantly, like they're waiting for him to address them a goodbye. The thought crosses his mind but, at the last moment, he goes against it and floats out the door.

Taehyung waves his hand to get Seokjin to come over. "Hey, hyung," he says. "Where's Jungkook going?"

Seokjin smiles. "Out," he replies, and Taehyung pouts. "So, Jimin, are you enjoying the food?"

"How could I not? It's delicious!" Jimin gives two thumbs-up, crumbs at the corners of his mouth. Like a mother with a messy eater for a son, Taehyung uses a napkin to wipe them off. "And I'm _not_ just saying that because Taehyung works here," he adds, as an afterthought.

"That's good to hear," chirps Seokjin. A light bulb seems to go off in his head as he informs, "Oh, Taehyung, since you're not going to come back for work today, you should know that Cypher isn't going to be open for the next two days — tomorrow and the day after that."

"Why? Is something special going on?" inquires Taehyung, clueless.

"New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, duh," Jimin supplies, nudging Taehyung from across the table. "Tae, you're terrible with the dates of holidays, do you know that? Important dates — period!"

Taehyung sighs because, yes, he does know and unfortunately agrees with that. "I don't think there's a calendar in my brain," he mutters. "All my days get jumbled up." Jimin rubs his head, sort of patronizing but Taehyung appreciates it nevertheless.

"It gets worse with age," jokes Seokjin. Jimin guffaws, and Taehyung slumps sulkily.

After Jimin soon finishes his breakfast, Taehyung downs half his coffee and heads outside first. Jimin stays in the shop for another minute — probably talking/flirting with Seokjin, from what Taehyung can see through the window — and when he comes out he promptly latches onto Taehyung's arm, his rolling suitcase in tow.

"We're off on a birthday adventure!" he exclaims, cheeks already turning red from the winter air.

"The movies," corrects Taehyung, laughing.

Jimin grins widely and reiterates, "A birthday adventure to the movies!"

—

Neither of them has a lot of pocket change on them to begin with, so it only makes sense that the two best friends have their fun without spending any money. How? Taehyung is a master at signing up for birthday specials and ordering discount coupons. (And not to mention, back in high school, Jimin's self-proclaimed "Busan charm" had always worked wonders while bartering with street stalls.)

The movie they watch lasts about an hour-and-a-half — a mixture of comedy, romance, and slice-of-life between a trio of childhood friends, struggling to get through college. It's an indie film that had been released during Taehyung's rehab time in the hospital, and one of Jimin's favorite actors plays a lead role. He wouldn't shut up about it for days, calling and texting whiningly about having to _wait_ and be _patient_ for Taehyung to get discharged so they could watch it together.

(But getting into the theater was no easy task. Jimin had to prove that his suitcase was _not_ filled with smuggled food or weapons, with Taehyung as an unhelpful figure during the ordeal. Several employees plowed through his bag for ten whole minutes, inspecting his deodorant and other embarrassing items, and only stopped when they stumbled upon a red lace lingerie bottom. Jimin was very quick to claim, "That's not mine!" but the damage was done. Taehyung had gained a new piece of blackmail material.)

Now that they're watching the movie, Jimin is honed in on the screen, mouth partially open, and completely immersed in the screenplay. Little to no stray comments are said, but it's unneeded. Taehyung is no better or worse as he experiences the film — he doesn't blink for practically half the movie, and when it finishes his eyes are so dry that they automatically water.

"Tae, are you crying?" Jimin teases, once the credits are rolling and some people are leaving the theater. The two of them like to stay until after the credits, just to be courteous audience members.

"No, I just have air in my eye." _Shit_ , his left eye is acting up, too, behind his eye patch. Hopefully blinking rapidly for the next two minutes makes up for the entire thirty minutes he didn't. "I forgot to blink. My mind was just so... focused, you know."

"I feel you," Jimin says, smiling wryly. "Did you like it a lot? I really did. Indie movies are awesome like that; you never really know what to expect. Plus, everyone in the cast was totally fit for their roles!"

Taehyung shrugs. "It was good, but I don't think I liked it as much as you. The romance was sort of out of place," he states.

Jimin seems affronted at that notion, enough to feel the need to defend it. "Come _on_. The entire setup was _perfect_. Throughout the whole movie, the subtlety made it worthwhile! It fit the mood!" Taehyung gives him another shrug, and he huffs, "You don't understand meaningful love stories."

"That—" Taehyung hesitates, "—may be true."

"You've never been in a single relationship," Jimin points out, waggling a pointed finger.

"Hey, that doesn't mean I don't know love!" And, after that haughty declaration, Taehyung feels terribly mortified.

Jimin adds fuel to Taehyung's humiliating fire of innocence and reminds him, "Your biggest crush was on our homeroom teacher in the first year of high school."

"To be fair, _everyone_ was in love with Ms. Lee at one point or any other. And what's that got to do with anything?"

"You weren't _in love_ with her," Jimin says. "You grow from your experiences, but you have little to none. You're getting nowhere with your argument, or whatever it is you're trying to prove."

Taehyung frowns, not satisfied at the turn of events, and mutters, "I know what a good love story looks like."

"Don't kid yourself, Tae. You wouldn't know a great love story if it..." Jimin pauses, knitting his eyebrows together. When he gets the idea, he snaps his fingers with both hands and finishes epically, "You wouldn't know an _incredible_ love _spectacle_ even if it spilled _scorching_ hot coffee on your _crotch_."

"You really thought hard about that one, didn't you," snorts Taehyung. "Although your word choice killed it."

Jimin's face is positively radiant as he proclaims haughtily, "It was a hell of a poetic metaphor, no matter what you say."

—

The air is more brittle, more chilling, at this time of mid-afternoon. However, it feels as if the space between Jimin and Taehyung has its own heat circulating, their hearts set ablaze as they relive memories of their childhood at a local park.

"Do you think I can do twenty pull-ups?"

Taehyung watches amusedly as Jimin jitters in anticipation under the metal bar. "No, but I know you're going to do them regardless of what I say," he proclaims, kicking his legs back and forth as he sits on the swing set.

And that's exactly what Jimin does. Both arms shoot up to grasp the bar, legs tucked in behind him, and he smiles even though it's clear he's struggling. "Make sure no one steals my luggage," he grunts. "I have important objects in there."

Staring at the suitcase laid flat on the ground Taehyung taunts, "Racy lingerie?" Jimin curses in his direction. "Okay, well, I wouldn't count a shirt you got in primary school, which somehow still fits you, 'important' either."

"That has _sentimental_ value. Very important."

The shirt in context is truthfully worth everything to Jimin, and Taehyung knows this but still likes to occasionally tease.

Ever since Jimin was young he had been interested in music. His passion for musicals started in the summer when they were both thirteen years old. During a special class trip, their entire grade level had attended a Broadway-style play at a nearby theater. Not many of the kids took it seriously, but of course Jimin did — the teacher had told them there would be a lot of songs and dance numbers, and Jimin liked those. Taehyung, although not as eager to be an audience member, remained at his best friend's side, making sure that they could get close seats to see the entire stage.

Once the play started, time stopped for Jimin. A piano key rang. There was a flute, and then a clarinet, and then the piano again. A light shone on a lone figure, sprawled on his back, clothes dusty and ragged. His mouth opened, and time began once more.

Jimin was mesmerized by the voices, by the motions, and would stare longingly at the actors and actresses whose songs held onto him so sturdily, like there were glitters of magic laced in minor chords. Taehyung didn't understand the "ethereal feeling" as much, but he knew that Jimin was seriously enjoying the musical and thought that he should make an effort to do the same.

By the conclusion, Taehyung also concluded that musicals weren't really his thing. But they were definitely Jimin's, a merry glow appearing on his face that hadn't been there before. Taehyung knew that a thing like this — Jimin had described, "It makes you wanna go out and _live_ " — was something he wanted to find for himself, too.

Their bus back to school was set to leave only ten minutes after the closing curtain, but Jimin wanted to stay longer so he could meet the cast and crew — and nothing was going to stop him. Nine minutes to go, and they sprinted past tall passersby to reach the stage. With hands lent to one another, they climbed up and raced behind the velvet curtain, searching for— Well, Jimin didn't really know, but he wanted to say his thanks to someone, _anyone_. And, as luck would have it, the main actor was the one to approach them.

Jimin remembers his voice clearly, just like his voice, and couldn't get a word out when he asked why they were backstage. Taehyung was his savior — "He liked the show. Loved it, even" — and patted his friend on the back, encouraging him to shake the hand of the actor who held it out. Star struck, Jimin was speechless even then, and the bemused actor took it upon himself to grab a large shirt from a shelf, sign it in black permanent marker, and declare, "You look like you're going to be a big fan or a big star. Maybe both, if you're lucky."

Three minutes left. Jimin screamed, " _Thank you_!" at the top of his lungs, holding the shirt with a grip that could strangle a teddy bear. The actor laughed, hoarse from hours of belting out high notes, and told them they should get going, just in case someone was looking for them. Having momentarily forgotten about their transportation plan, a panicked Taehyung grabbed Jimin's arm and steered them away — he shouted his thanks, as well, mid-run — and led them to their seats on the bus. No minutes remained, and Jimin wouldn't stop grinning, even after getting scolded by their homeroom teacher.

It was a reckless, juvenile idea that nearly got them suspended, but neither of them regret it one bit. As he kicks out his legs, Taehyung chuckles, "Whatever you say."

The loud _fwump_ alerts him of Jimin's drop, thankfully landing on his feet. He bites his lip and looks down at his shoes. (Taehyung assumes that he hadn't been able to make it to twenty, and hopes that that doesn't put him in low spirits.) Then, Jimin lets out a long breath and smiles contentedly as he waddles over to the bench.

"Don't touch the metal. It is freezing," advises Jimin, carefully inspecting his fingers. He sticks to Taehyung's side and shoves both his hands in front of his friend's face. "Does this look like frostbite to you?"

Taehyung holds Jimin's fingers with both of his gloved hands, scrutinizing. "I'm going to say that these are just cold palms."

"Are you sure? I don't wanna be paranoid, but this _might_ be something serious. Wrong diagnoses are very dangerous. You're not even a real doctor, man."

"My apartment is literally ten minutes away," Taehyung proclaims, pressing his own hands together so that Jimin's can receive a reassuring squeeze. "Do you think you can survive until then?"

Cue: Overly dramatic Jimin. "Taehyung..." he sighs, with a lilt in his tone that makes him sound like he's quoting Shakespeare. "Death. Death is upon me, the chilled and weak hearted. O dear realm in the sky, save me from the wasteland that threatens to claim me." He strides forward, expression twisted as he clenches his eyes shut. "Friendship, weaker than. Pain, strong as. Alas, my time is naught." He falls to his knees, shoulders slumped. "End scene."

"I'll give you a nine," praises Taehyung, and he doesn't forget to applaud for the performance.

Jimin's head shoots up and he shrieks, "Out of ten? That's it?" He hops to his feet. "Tae, I'm going to be the star of dozens of musicals, and you give me a _nine_ out of ten? Really?"

"What would you give yourself?"

"A hundred out of ten!" Jimin barks, like that had been the right answer all along.

Scoffing, Taehyung shakes his head. "See, your confidence is really inflating your ego. You have to set _realistic_ expectations."

"Says who?" Jimin puffs out his chest, climbs on top of the bench, and stands with his hands on his hips. "I'll be as out of the box as I wanna be!" he exclaims righteously. "With the power invested in me—"

"You sound like you're officiating a wedding."

Jimin glares down at Taehyung. "With the powers _that I have_ ," he rephrases, "I can surpass any limit set in front of me. No boundaries."

"Nothing to hold you back," adds Taehyung, smiling. He really loves it when Jimin gets self-confident like this. It's a little hard to believe, but at one point in time Jimin had been— not shy, per se, but reserved. Like he was afraid of what people thought of him. But that's in the distant past now, and it's one of the handfuls of things that the pair has agreed to put behind them.

Taehyung rests his face on his hand and asks, "Are your hands still cold?"

It takes Jimin a few seconds, but then he laughs loudly and crouches on his heels, knocking his head against Taehyung's. "You know, I forgot that they were!"

—

"Whew! I'm beat," breathes Jimin, stretching his arms out as he sheds off layers of clothes, leaving himself clothed in only a t-shirt and boxers. He flops onto Taehyung's bed and squirms around the sheets, not stopping until the blanket is wrong-side up and the pillow is nowhere to be seen.

Taehyung takes off his own clothes (including his pants, but he grabs a pair of shorts for himself and throws another at Jimin). "You act like a giant dog," remarks Taehyung. "The only difference is that dogs are trained better."

"Rude." Jimin pouts. He rolls himself in the blanket, wrapping it around his head, and asks cutely, "What's for dinner?"

Dinner? Oh, fuck, _dinner_. "Uh—" Taehyung hesitates, pausing from where he's gathering Jimin's garments from the floor. "I don't have any food right now," he says, and that's _technically_ not a lie at all.

"Bullshit," accuses Jimin. He skips over to the kitchen, hands poised behind his back, and scours through all the cabinets and fridge. With all the racket he's making, Taehyung is surprised his neighbors aren't making a fuss — but then again, Taehyung doesn't actually know who his neighbors are, so.

A few minutes later, after Taehyung has checked and watered his cactus plant, Jimin finally speaks up. "Tae, you weren't kidding!" he shouts, with a majority of his head hidden inside the fridge. "Where's all your food? You're not going on a diet, are you!?"

Taehyung is in the middle of sorting mail, rocking back and forth on his heels, and retorts offhandedly over his shoulder, "Cut me some slack! I haven't been home since—" He sucks in a breath. Oops.

Jimin is on him in a flash, latching onto Taehyung's shoulders and hoisting himself onto his back, Taehyung yelling his protests as the envelopes drop from his hands. "Why haven't you been home, Tae? _Hm_? Is there something that you're hiding from me!?"

"Gah! My ears! No pulling!"

"Or — should I say — _someone_!?" screams Jimin, fingers relentless, the widest grin on his face.

"Stop it! Nothing's going on!" Taehyung cries. Jimin's attacks don't legitimately hurt, but they still pack a slight sting that cause Taehyung twinges of pain. "Jiminnie, please, I'm a recovering hospital patient!"

"You can't make that excuse, wimp! You and I both know you're fine!" Jimin exclaims, chuckling devilishly. He tugs on Taehyung's ear, eliciting a whine from his victim. "Tell me now, or I'll be forced to employ my canines!"

Taehyung really, _really_ regrets calling him a dog. He insists, "I'm serious!" Legs weak, he falls to the ground, Jimin still cemented on top of him.  "Seriously, I _am serious_ ," Taehyung groans, whimper muffled by the floor.

"Where were you yesterday?"

"Working," wails Taehyung.

Jimin sits up, making himself comfortable on the small of Taehyung's back, and rubs his chin. "Did Seokjin make you stay at the cafe? One-on-one time?" he inquires. He does this cheeky giggle and begins pounding like a masseuse on Taehyung's back. "Oh, sneaky li'l Tae-Tae. So _that_ 's why you didn't want me to make a move. I see how it is."

"Huh?" Taehyung may've zoned out for a split second — Jimin (unintentionally) does incredible massages — but he hears the gist of what the other had said and creases his brows. "Jimin, how did you even come up with— You were going to _make a move_?"

"I very well could've," Jimin claims. (He kneads into Taehyung's upper back and, _oh, that hits the spot_.) "But I can't now," he sighs. "Alas, that'd be against the Bro Code."

Taehyung purses his lips. "No, you don't get it, Jiminnie. I don't... I don't like Seokjin hyung like that." He shakes his head at the mere thought of it, because...   _weird_. "That won't happen, like, ever."

Getting up, Jimin pulls Taehyung to a stand and leads them onto Taehyung's bed, where they settle beside each other, lying down, with Jimin's legs propped vertically against the wall. "You're bound to have a crush on him sooner or later," Jimin swears.

Taehyung bites his lips, shakes his head. "Think of it as me going out with you," he says, drawing out the words in the most uncomfortable way possible.

Jimin grimaces. "Oh, no, that's just gross." He taps the center of his chest. "We're family, Tae. Brother and brother."

Even though Taehyung has heard it hundreds of times, whenever Jimin refers to him as a "brother" he can't help but feel a bundle of butterflies in his stomach, like it sounds so _real_ (and therefore too good to be true).

"Seokjin hyung..." he starts carefully, weighing his words. "He feels like he could be family. Almost."

The statement lingers in the air, and as Jimin quietly absorbs it Taehyung realizes that he may have been craving this confirmation from his best friend. That Seokjin — despite the time knowing him being brief — is someone that can be there for him, be a part of what he has been piecing together to form a misshapen family.

"I can see it," Jimin says, nodding. He's not looking at Taehyung, but he's still grinning like he knows Taehyung is staring at him, relieved. Casually, he throws his arm to the side and it falls on Taehyung's chest. "Well, I guess it has to be the other one, then."

"Other what?" Taehyung asks. "What are you talking about now?" Jimin's arm doesn't want to budge, so he leaves it there.

Snapping his fingers, with the arm not on Taehyung's chest, Jimin stammers energetically, "That— That waiter... The dim eyes, reddish hair... Crap, why can't I remember his name?"

"Are you talking about Jungkook?"

"Yes! Him! That's the guy!" Jimin shouts. Taehyung laughs, and gets swatted at instantly. "I'm still getting to the bottom of this," Jimin continues, determined. "Was it _him_ you stayed with yesterday, at Cypher?"

"Well..." Should he lie? It's not like telling the truth about Jungkook will hurt him this time around, so... "Yes — but hear me out first!"

Jimin had been ready to bombard him with accusations, but at the hasty request he closes his lips and says grumpily, "Plead your innocence."

Taehyung rolls his eyes and explains, "Last night I worked real late at Cypher, and Seokjin hyung didn't want me to go home while it was totally dark out. So he let me stay upstairs, in Jungkook's room, where they have another floor where they basically live." He sighs loudly. "That's it."

Jimin hums, contemplating whether or not to refute the response. "Both of them live there? In the Cypher building?" he asks, his feet patting the wall. "That's oddly convenient... A bit anticlimactic, on my part."

"You should've had lower expectations," scoffs Taehyung.

"I don't believe in that concept. _Lower expectations_. Set your standards high for others and higher for yourself," Jimin declares. He turns onto his side, his arm propping up his head. "Have you really not experienced anything of the romantic sort since I left, Tae? I was sure that you were letting off crushing-on-you pheromones."

Taehyung squints at the ceiling. "Those aren't real."

"They are in my book." Jimin smiles. "But seriously. None at all?"

"Seokjin is handsome, and Jungkook is cute—" Taehyung shrugs, "—but it's not like I'm in love with either of them."

"So innocent and naive," tuts Jimin, shaking his head. "A crush doesn't mean you necessarily _love_ someone. It just means you're intrigued. By mystery and good looks, more than likely."

"I'm not... intrigued," Taehyung mutters. He's not.

The way Jimin laughs at him, like he _still_ doesn't believe it, makes Taehyung purse his lips. "Tae, I'm going to call the Chinese takeout place," Jimin says, sitting up and fetching his phone from the table.

"You're hungry?" asks Taehyung.

Jimin nods. "Do you want anything specific? If not, I'm going all out."

Taehyung absently rubs at his stomach, wondering what a good answer would be in this situation, and settles for a nonchalant, "Order whatever." Jimin looks at him peculiarly for a moment, then sighs and heads to the kitchen to find a take-out menu.

Jimin's lively voice can be heard through the walls, and it makes Taehyung smile.

The thought comes to him suddenly, then, and he notices that they've been talking about love more than usual today. (Although their usual equates to never, but still.) Never been in a relationship, never been in love, never been in lust. By society's standards, one would call twenty year old Kim Taehyung _pure_.

In general, Taehyung doesn't particularly enjoy that word — pure. It makes him sound like he hasn't made any mistakes or bad decisions before, like some angel seated comfortably in the heavens. But Taehyung's wings are becoming tainted with sin, and _pure_ just rubs him the wrong way.

A different word he likes better is _inexperienced_ , because he is. That's a fact. He's just another person who, at the end of the day, wants to learn. Being inexperienced presents the notion that Taehyung doesn't know everything, isn't perfect, but he's looking out to gain experience. To gain knowledge.

Maybe gain love. (Or maybe not.)

—

It's really hard _not_ to eat when Jimin is so invested in his food that it makes Taehyung feel inferior. But when eating means vomiting and having a terrible ache in his stomach, Taehyung can definitely score one over the other. Hiding the fact that he isn't actually eating, though, is tricky. At first, he had contemplated "eating" but that idea is too difficult for him to pull off without trouble. He ends up sneaking morsels of food, when Jimin's attention is on the TV screen, into napkins to throw away later.

"Tae?"

Taehyung nearly bangs his hand under the table, where he's trying to conceal pieces of teriyaki beef to throw away later. "Huh? What do you need? Hm?" he squeaks.

Jimin, chopsticks in hand, chortles. "Yo, calm down, I'm not going to flip any tables," he says, grinning. "Are you going to eat that?" He's pointing to a piece of Chinese broccoli in Taehyung's box, snapping his chopsticks. Taehyung quickly shakes his head, and Jimin yips happily. "Sweet! Thanks, bro."

"You can have more," says Taehyung, trying to make it sound as casual as possible.

"Ay—" Jimin leans back, leering, "—I couldn't possibly take so much from the birthday boy." He scoots closer, contradicting his words, and drawls sweetly, "But if you _insist_."

As Jimin nabs at almost all of his "dinner," Taehyung tries not to let his relief show by drawing his focus to the TV. Amidst waiting for his delivery to come, Jimin had tuned in to the Ghoul Network where a "special broadcast" was scheduled to be shown. It has yet to come on, and Jimin won't disclose what it'll be about, so a rerun of news briefs about ghoul mass murderers plays as background noise.

When a bright blue light flashes on the screen, Jimin dances in his seat and rattles Taehyung's arm. "Oooh, it's starting! It's starting!" Taehyung feels a little lightheaded, but he soon regains his bearings and watches as the title, _Inside Our Defenders_ , blares bold on the screen.

A reporter wearing an awful suit with a polygonal-style tie smiles, all teeth, at the camera and holds a fuzzy microphone to his face. " _Hello, everyone! This is Seo Eunkwang, live, the man of the hour. Or, should I say, the man who will introduce you the most astounding establishment in the country_ —" He takes a long pause, lips curling unsettlingly, "— _the Commission of Counter Ghoul. That's right, folks! You heard me correctly! For the next sixty minutes, prepare to meet our unsung heroes and their work. Straight from the Ghoul Network, we'll be back after these messages from our sponsors_."

Jimin wails, hands thrown up in the air, "Aw, damn!" He clucks his tongue. "Pesky commercials."

"So this is what you're all excited for?" Taehyung asks. "Why is it so special?"

" _Why_? Taehyung, haven't I told you before?" Jimin's voice gets louder, excitement rising with volume. "The CCG is the organization in charge of controlling the most deadly criminals to walk the planet—"

Taehyung feels a prick at his heart, winces.

"But they're so _secretive_ ," Jimin goes on. "Only the people involved are aware of what exactly goes on, while we common folk know only the bare minimum. This show—" Jimin motions to the TV the same time there's an advertisement for cleansing face wash, "—can show us, if only a glimpse, of how the officials handle ghouls!"

"Great," Taehyung says, and his voice sounds anything but thrilled.

Jimin catches onto that and frowns. He puts his hand on Taehyung's shoulder. "What's wrong, Tae? We can watch something else if you want. I was getting a little ahead of myself— I mean, I forget that you don't focus on ghouls like I do."

 _If only you knew_. Taehyung waves his hands in front of him, shaking his head. "No, I'm fine! Just a little tired," he lies, and he's surprised how easily it comes out. "I'm a bit curious, too, anyway."

"Terrific!" beams Jimin. "There might be some lapses of information that I— we already know about, because some employees won't be too open about sharing brand-spanking-new details. Hopefully there aren't too many—"

There's a knock on the door, interrupting Jimin, and Taehyung is on high alert immediately. It's late, almost nine now — who would come to his apartment? He begins to sit up to inspect the intruder, but Jimin beats him to the punch, pushing him out of the way as he sprints to the door.

Confused, Taehyung calls out, "Do you know who that is?" Jimin doesn't respond to him, which makes him even more puzzled.

After closing the door, Jimin scurries to the kitchen, holding something in his hands. There's the sound of an opening and closing drawer, and then hushed giggles from Jimin. _Even more suspicious_ , Taehyung thinks. Once again, he makes to stand to scope things out, but he falls back to his seat at the sight of lit flames in the sudden darkness.

Jimin sings a jolly birthday tune, creating his own off-rhythm beat every few notes, as he carries a small round cake with two red candles stuck in the top. His face is barely illuminated, but Taehyung can still tell that he's grinning from ear to ear. He sets the cake onto the table, in front of Taehyung, and takes a seat on the other side.

The song ends, and Jimin proclaims loudly, "And now, you make a wish!"

Taehyung, though, is stunned. "What's this?" he asks, quiet.

Jimin huffs, "It's your birthday! You get a cake!" He impatiently slams his hands on the table. "Hurry and blow out the candles! They're gonna melt and the cake will taste like _shit_."

Taking a careful moment to come up with a wish, Taehyung's breath extinguishes the candles and Jimin claps his hands. "How'd you get this?" he inquires while Jimin plucks off the candles.

"Called in an order," Jimin answers, proud. "And I found these stray candles in one of your drawers. Lucky."

Taehyung asks it to ask it, curiosity a habit that continues to be a part of him: "What flavor is it?"

"Coffee," chimes Jimin. "Can't you smell it? It's hard to, when it's in cake-form, but once you taste it... _Boom_! Rich, coffee flavor." He rubs the back of his neck, bashful, like he's embarrassed of what he said. "Well, that's what the Seokjin hyung told me."

That statement shocks Taehyung. "Seriously?"

Jimin procures a knife and begins slicing the cake into pieces, uneven and messy. "Earlier, he told me about the bakery I ordered this from." He wiggles his eyebrows. "That was right before the movies. You didn't notice, did you?"

Taehyung robotically shakes his head, his mind still reeling. He can't eat food, let alone cake. But this is _coffee_ cake, and Seokjin recommending it to Jimin? That must mean... something. Maybe if he tried eating it, just a little—

"Your share, birthday boy!"

Okay, _maybe_ he should have told Jimin to cut him a small slice rather than this piece the size of his face. But Jimin is gazing at him, biting his lip in anticipation, waiting for Taehyung to take the first bite. Nervously, Taehyung grabs his chopsticks from the take-out box and uses them to swiftly put the cake in his mouth, chewing. Chewing. Chewing. And swallowing.

Hopeful, Jimin asks, "Is it good?"

"Yeah," breathes Taehyung, nodding. He takes another bite, to make sure he isn't imagining it, but... "It's delicious," he murmurs, a disbelieving laugh at the end of his words. There are tears threatening to well up in his eyes, and he sniffles.

"Aw, Tae!" coos Jimin. "You like it that much?"

Taehyung can't speak, because he's actually crying now, tears falling down one cheek and soaking part of his eye patch on the other. The cake tastes _wonderful_ , and even though he'll probably have to vomit it out later, since digesting won't work for him, he relishes every bite like it's his last. Jimin eats with him, all smiles, and together they watch the rest of the CCG special.

(Although Taehyung doesn't remember more than half of it. There's Eunkwang, the reporter, and Changsub, the unfortunate cameraman that has to keep up with said reporter's random sprints throughout the broadcast. Their interviews get turned down by a whole bunch of investigators — Heeyeon, Dahye, Nam-something-or-other... Jimin ends up letting Taehyung switch to _Iron Man_ on another channel, because even he gets let down by the "special.")

—

That night, as Taehyung sleeps soundly beside Jimin, feeling a warmth completely different from Jungkook's, he dreams of the endless meadow, the ground covered in snow white lilies and sprigs of lavender.

"Happy birthday," greets Bom, her blue hair complementing the flowers as she rests on the ground. Her dress is the color of a midnight sky. "My birthday is in March, around spring time." She reaches out to the sky with one hand, and Taehyung suppresses the urge to hold it. "I love seeing cherry blossoms."

"How did you know it was my birthday?"

Bom laughs, polished, as if she was expecting this question. She doesn't have her glasses on. "How did I?" she hums, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers. "Why do I know anything, Taehyung?"

He knows this is a dream. He won't pinch himself, but he knows. But as he takes a seat, feels the petals on his palms, Taehyung can't help but wonder how _vivid_ this world is. The lavender scent is sharp, and it burns his sinuses. "You're part of my imagination," he says. "You're not real."

Again, Bom laughs. "Odd," she whispers, picking out a wilted lily from underneath her body.

Taehyung crawls toward her, captivated by slim fingers, and asks, "What is?"

Bom rises, smiles, and tucks the stem of the flower behind Taehyung's ear. "So incredibly odd," she continues, "that you would wish for something so. Fucking. Selfish."

The breeze is weak, barely strong enough to rustle Taehyung's hair. He exhales a shaky breath. "I'm—" He stops. "I don't understand."

"Would a human ever?" Bom sighs.

She begins to sing, hauntingly beautiful, a song that Taehyung has never heard of before — a story about the wrong and the wronged, where no one is ever right. It makes Taehyung feel ice cold to his very core, but he can't seem to stop listening, not for a second, even as the words pass by him like another person's conversation. Bom has her eyes locked on him for every measure, every beat, and when she finishes she takes Taehyung's hand and bites.


	10. leftover change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah.......... this is...... okay... abt 4.7k?? so a bit shorter than the last, if that means anything. tbh i actually like this chapter a lot, bc of jungkook...... but it's pretty dull on everything else lmao. let's call this a jungkook-centric chapter, okay? once again idk when i'll update next, but i hope to again by the end of the year!!!!
> 
> ( [tumblr](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/) | [ask.fm](http://ask.fm/fruti2flutie) )

The alarm set to ring at seven a.m. doesn't get a chance to, because the boy who had created it turns it off with a swipe of a thumb. Jungkook wakes at six-thirty, eyes taking a few seconds to adjust in the pitch blackness of his room. He's not tired physically, but he feels a lukewarm wave of sluggishness wash over him when he sits up. Hands fisted in his sheets, he lets out a shaky sigh.

Today is the day before the New Year — and he's going to visit his parents.

There's no need to dress formally; it's never something Jungkook ever considers for this specific event. He puts together his warmest outfit: his gray beanie, wool gloves, dark jeans, long-sleeved shirt, and coat. The only pair of shoes he has is ratty Converse, red, that should probably be replaced soon. They'll have to do, for now, since he can't very well walk in the snow barefoot. (He had tried it once before, but the experience alone was enough to convince him never to do it again.)

After checking off a mental list of items to bring along, Jungkook steps out of his room and into the hall. He first heads to Seokjin's room, carefully creaks open the door, and sees that his guardian is still snoozing away, several stuffed plushies kicked off the bed. The sight makes him snort. Leaving a note seems only fair — even while Seokjin knows where he's going — so Jungkook procures a sticky note and pen, scribbling down a few phrases and time mentions onto it and placing it on the vanity mirror. Before he leaves, he tucks the covers up to Seokjin's chin and puts an alpaca by his head.

The chill outside is worse in the early mornings compared to the less bitter afternoons. Jungkook is shivering the moment he walks out of the cafe, nose becoming red, ears soon to follow. Hopefully Seokjin won't mind if he gets hand warmers, too, with his money that Jungkook is borrowing. It's for his own health and safety as an employee at Cypher, really, because a barista can't possibly make coffee with frostbitten fingers, can he?

Although, he doesn't plan on being exposed to the winter air for an extensively long period of time. In terms of walking, he'll go far enough until he's at the edge of the city. There, a convenience store is around the corner of the block, and then a little past it is a small temple. Jungkook can take a taxi the rest of his way, after that, and if he's lucky he won't be ripped-off. But for now, he walks.

Jungkook likes the mornings, objectively speaking. He likes the start of the day, the brink that the sun dissolves as it pulls itself into the sky. If he had the capacity to get up before sunrise, just to get a quick glance at it, he would. Nothing is stopping him except for late nights playing Starcraft and writing music, and those habits aren't going to be outgrown any time soon. Still, he likes the mornings — the whistling birds, the pale sky, and the quiet. Especially the quiet. Dawn silence is a deafening symphony that Jungkook will never tire of, even in this icy weather.

—

The black leather of the taxi is strangely damp, and Jungkook hopes it's from melting ice and not unknown, suspicious liquids. Who knows how much he would need to cleanse himself of those unheard of germs. Seokjin has already scolded him twice for snatching a bottle of hand sanitizer from his beauty kit.

Luckily, the taxi driver assures him the heat circulation system is broken, so some spots might be cold while others are warm — ergo melted ice or frozen. The driver is of the kinder bunch, who actually turns off the radio when Jungkook asks and respects the lack of conversation. But the inside of the car smells like cigarettes and stale alcohol, so Jungkook can't make any concrete judgments. The ride is only ten minutes long, and with the window a smidge down the odor is tolerable.

Jungkook rummages through the black plastic bag with all his supplies he'd bought inside: hand warmers, a bottle of iced coffee, several white carnations, and a rose-scented candle. There are also three incense sticks, which the temple let him have for free. He had requested for four, initially, but the lady who he spoke to gave him the stink-eye — so he settled for those three. No big deal. Three is enough anyway.

Twisting off the lid, Jungkook takes measured sips of the iced coffee and gazes out the window. The flavor isn't nearly as rich as Cypher's, too watered and weak, but he'll settle. The sun is starting to make its way above the horizon, light shining hues of red and dabs of pink. The clouds are blue-gray, barely white, and remind Jungkook of the cotton stuffing that teddy bears are made of. It's a childish thought. He tosses his bottle in the trash compartment, with a third of its contents still inside.

The taxi arrives at the front of the cemetery, slowing to a stop on the path. Jungkook fishes out Seokjin's wallet and pays the driver, adding a considerable tip for good will. When he opens the door the cold hits him full-force as snowflakes begin to fall, and he pulls his beanie lower over his ears. It doesn't help much — shaking up two hand warmers and holding them in his pockets is much more effective. As Jungkook acclimates himself to the weather the taxi drives away, tracks etched onto the pavement, and that's enough reason to get Jungkook started on another walk.

There are tens of gravestones spread out on almost every plot of land, covered in snow, some footsteps left here and there. Visiting the deceased around New Year's is a typical custom for filial families; Jungkook coincidentally had made it a tradition for himself. He clutches his bag and continues forward, heading toward the boundary where the cemetery meets the dark string of large pine trees. Once he passes a certain grave with chipped stone, he swiftly checks around him for any onlookers and then, seeing none, sprints into the forest.

A ghoul would never be buried with humans. Everyone knows that it's one of the unspoken rules between the two species — and if not, ghouls take to it alone while humans vaguely acknowledge it unspokenly. Being laid to rest with the mass skeletal remains of humans isn't natural for a ghoul, even if they're one who has conformed to fit in with the human society. If a single human suspected a ghoul invading "something sacred" of theirs yet again, people would be digging up their coffins and finding new methods to honor the dead. (Cremating, Jungkook has heard, is increasing in popularity nowadays.)

Even still, a majority of the time ghouls aren't properly buried, because dying peacefully is a rare treat for their kind. Those news reports that appear every morning — Seokjin tells Jungkook to stop watching them — show what happens when a ghoul tries to live, tries to be alive, _tries_ to do what the world won't allow them to. Dozens of gruesome violence cases and hate crimes (and suicides, but the news never calls them that) show bloodied and battered ghouls who deserve more to life than what they get.

People say that ghouls are the "bad guys," but Jungkook can name more human monsters than ghouls any day. He really, really hates humans. They never want to make compromise, never want to think about what can be done _logically_ to stop all these unnecessary deaths. Ghouls are so fucking _scared_ , but they don't care. Humans are too preoccupied with themselves, ignorant about the hardships of ghouls, and it makes him want to—

Jungkook gets so lost in his thoughts that he almost rushes past his destination. Like a car on an icy road he skids to a stop, the snow wet under his feet, but is able to steady himself on the trunk of a tree before a nasty fall can take place. He spots the familiar indigo-painted rock, the snow swept off it and a bough of holly placed at its front, and lets out a long sigh.

"Hi, Mom," he says, "Dad."

Jungkook's parents had wanted to be buried under a weeping willow tree, in the autumn. When he had been a small boy and asked why, his mother replied simply, "So you don't have to cry a drop, sweetheart. Every leaf that falls is a tear you don't have to shed." The entire conversation was hard to understand back then, but in the recent years Jungkook has been thinking about what she had really meant by it all. Was she sad? Scared? Filled with regret? Had she known that death would overwhelm her?

Neither of his parents' bodies had the luxury of a burial service. While they were working in human occupations, the two of them had been discovered by an anti-ghoul organization and murdered, mutilated beyond recognition. A few days thereafter was when Jungkook found out they'd passed. Pictures had been delivered to his home, possibly as a warning, but he didn't get to see them — he packed his bags and fled to another town to begin another life, one where he wouldn't be suspected as a ghoul and have his future torn away from him.

The memorial here wasn't his idea, but he still takes some of the credit. The rock is a unique shade and shape, and its placement is ever-so convenient under a premature willow tree. (Though his parents had died in the spring, half the sentiment is still appreciated). He briefly wonders how long it had taken to discover this spot, how many hours were spent searching for a shard of a memory.

"Sorry I haven't visited for a long time," begins Jungkook, crouching down to set up his gifts. The incense sticks hold together nicely in the ground; the candle is light enough to rest atop the snow. It occurs to him, belatedly, that he needs a something to light them with. He chuckles lowly, "I'm forgetful, can't you tell?" He places the carnations in front of the rock and thinks his wit makes up for the lack of flames.

Jungkook stands, fingers gripping the hand warmers in his pocket, as he converses with the makeshift grave. "I finished high school. Got my diploma and everything." He smiles nervously. "After that, I didn't know what to do. I thought... I didn't think I could tell you, you know? Because I have no clue where I'm putting my future, and I don't think you'd react well to me saying that— that I don't know what I'm doing.

"But enough about me. I sound too pitiful, and you hear too much about me, honestly. Let me tell you about everyone else.

"Seokjin hyung is taking good care of me still. Cypher is on the down-low, and even though we have a steady pool of customers he has a lot more breathing room now. Plus he redecorated the place and now there are a whole bunch of plants everywhere, like we're lacking oxygen or something. He has _a lot_ of downtime. During breaks, he teaches me things, too — not school things, but real-life things. Do you know how confusing it is to write a check? I put the wrong date on one, and apparently that's a ‘big deal'. Figures. But Seokjin hyung didn't get mad. I wish you could have met him.

"But you met Yoongi hyung, unfortunately, and he's exactly the same. A lazy hard worker with too much time on his hands — the lethargic version of Seokjin hyung, basically. I don't know if he's gone outside at all this entire winter. He doesn't like the cold, but you'd think he'd hang around with us more. Well, maybe he hangs out with Seokjin hyung only... I dunno. Last time I met him was about a week ago, when I had to go with Taehyung to get a mask.

"Oh, right. I haven't told you about Taehyung, have I... Where do I even begin with this guy?

"For starters he's... a weird one. Everything about him is wrong. Not— not bad, because he's not. I actually met him a couple months ago, but I guess we got closer during December. Or whatever. Like, he's a college kid — not much older than me, though. Okay, the thing is, he said he _was_ a human. There was this freak accident, a car crash or something like that, and he says that he's not the same anymore. Can you believe that? I mean, I _will_ when I see something ghoulish of his, but... It just sounds like an elaborate fib to me.

"Anyways, he works at Cypher now as a waiter. And he has this friend, Jimin, who came back yesterday. I think they missed each other a lot, because Taehyung was really happy when he got back." Jungkook pauses for a very, very long time, wondering if the thing he's about to say is acceptable to voice out loud. He pinches at the hair below his ear, closes his eyes.

"They're... They seem nice."

He stops there, because he doesn't trust himself to admitting anything more.

The snow falls faster, then, rapidly coloring the gravesite white. Jungkook decides that he should get going soon. He should leave. Fingers still fastened tight around the hand warmers in his pockets, he takes a hot breath so large he melts a cloud of snowflakes in the air. The base of his chest hurts, like he's missing something and knows it.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, strained, "for not being able to come with hyung."

—

Jungkook doesn't want to go back to Cypher. It'll be empty, just like every New Year's Eve. Seokjin is always out on business, visiting other groups of ghouls and making sure no ruckus is around the area. Yoongi is a hermit and ever more so during the holidays. Taehyung has the day off, which is probably going to be spent with his returning friend anyway. Jungkook is grateful for the alone time, yet the feeling of loneliness is never welcome. It appears nevertheless.

He has a taxi drop him off at the other end of the city, where he can go peruse through the outdoor mall. It's brighter, livelier, and bigger than anything Jungkook has encountered in a while (if he's not counting people). All the shops are terribly overpriced during the holiday season, prices feigning " _Sale!_ " but only reduced by a coin or not reduced at all. That doesn't matter to him — he's not here to go shopping for belated Christmas gifts.

A short walk to the inner area leads him to an arcade. Resembling the text in a comic book the sign is in explosive neon green and blue, loud visually, and the music blaring is full-volume EDM, loud literally. If Jungkook was a normal teenager, he'd love coming here with a group of friends, eating cheap food and wasting time that could be spent studying for standardized exams. Obviously he's not — normal, that is — and is shit at school anyway. (Videogames are distractions for _everyone_.) As he steps inside he takes a sharp turn to the right in the lobby, not actually entering arcade, and stands in front of a row of colorful capsule machines.

Jungkook likes collecting capsule balls. It had started when he was a child, in the single digits, when the cheap prizes were toy knick-knacks that captured his attention for hours on end. These days there are figurines and keychains of popular shows aimed to attract the teenage crowd as well as kids, but Jungkook really only cares about the containers. Some of them are half colored, have clips or fasteners, or incorporate funky designs on them. The ones he likes most are displayed on the shelf in his room. (Although, this odd collection isn't the only one he keeps — he hoards perfumes, too.)

In Seokjin's wallet, there are a couple of extra coins that he'd gotten as change from his purchases at the convenience store. He takes them out and picks a machine to insert the money into, squatting down on his ankles so he can turn the dial easier. Two capsules barrel out of the flap for the price of one, and Jungkook whistles. Both of them are cool gray, but one has a clover pattern while the other has spades. "I win," he mutters triumphantly.

A shrill voice interrupts him, screeching, "You didn't play anything!" When Jungkook cranes his head to it, he sees a lollipop-wielding child with large eyes and a sticky scowl. Her shirt says _Cool Girl_ in hot pink bubble letters — her family must've brought her along to the arcade. "You can't say you _won_ if you didn't _play_ anything. That's wrong, mister."

There's a time and place for things, and this is not the time or place for... _this_. "I just said it to say it," Jungkook declares, flat, taking his capsules and shoving them in his coat pockets. He hopes the hand warmers don't melt them. "That's all there is to it."

The girl wrinkles her nose. There's some candy residue there, too. "But you're not a _winner_! You're lying!" she accuses, using her lollipop as a pointer. "Lying is a sin, mister. It's bad for your soul. That's what the priest says during morning mass."

Jungkook has never been good with kids, talking to girls, or religion. This is all three rolled into one sticky mess, and by God's name it's a fucking nightmare. " _Sorry_ ," he seethes, because he really doesn't want to deal with this today of all days. "Won't happen again."

And apparently that's all it takes to turn that sugar-coated frown upside-down, gross either way. "What'd you get?" she asks excitedly, leaning in and making Jungkook fear the shrinking proximity. (He does not want to touch this dirty child.)

The girl doesn't want to go away, no matter how hard Jungkook glares at her, so he begrudgingly takes out the capsules and pops them open. One of the capsules has an Gudetama eraser, that lazy egg Seokjin likes a lot. The other is a keychain of something he doesn't recognize, but it's a sparkly school girl character that the little girl can't seem to take her eyes off of. Jungkook notices, blinks, and holds out the chain to her. "Do you want this one?" he asks. He normally disposes of whatever's in the capsules anyway.

She gasps. The lollipop nearly gets stuck in her hair. "Can I really?" She moves in closer, eyes widening.

Jungkook can't help but cringe. _You'd think that the people teaching this kid about God would also go over Stranger Danger._ "I don't want it," he says. He's tempted to bargain for cash, but that's swindling and wrong to do to children.

The girl snatches the keychain and squeals, "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're cool, mister!" She giggles and holds out the figurine in front of her face, waving it around as she proclaims gleefully, "Ghoul Fighter Lulu is grateful!"

Oh. _That_ 's who that character is. Ironic. Jungkook is very tempted to break off the character's arms, now, mercilessly rupturing plastic and wire, but at this point in his lifetime he's more mature than that — he can be more civilized. "Why the he— heck does she fight ghouls?" He really shouldn't be curious about this ridiculous fictional entity, but shouldn't— Shouldn't she be in _school_? Test Taker Lulu? Ninetieth Percentile Lulu?

"Because the ghouls are _evil_ ," explains the girl. She furrows her eyebrows, retelling what she knows in a dramatic fashion. "They're big, mean, and smelly... And they want to take over the world! So Lulu has to stop all of the ones who attack her, because she needs to be strong to defeat the biggest, meanest, and smelliest ghoul that stole her best friend, Riri." She gazes devotedly at the keychain. "Everyone depends on Lulu. She's the heroine! The heroic one!"

"Heroic," echoes Jungkook. An empty laugh escapes his lips. He thinks of Seokjin, Yoongi, and even Taehyung, too, and wonders — do ghouls ever get to be called heroic? Are humans the only species that get to matter? The answer is obvious, but there's always that sliver of hope that never wants to die down at the very bottom of his core. When it comes down to it, he blames Seokjin for his sudden urge of righteousness.

"Has it ever occurred to you," he begins carefully, "that humans _share_ this world? With the plants, like trees and flowers. Humans can't survive without the oxygen greens give them or the food that's made from them. And all the animals! Dogs, cats, fish, birds — you name it, and humans have already domesticated them, eaten them, captured them." He takes a deep breath. "Humans don't live in their own world, you know. Humans are the one of the many who live within everyone else's. You— Humans aren't alone on earth."

The girl blinks. "So?" Her candy is nestled in her hair, but she doesn't seem to be aware of it. Jungkook doesn't tell her. "Ghouls are bad, and that's that. Everyone knows it. What are you trying to tell me, mister?"

Heavily, Jungkook sighs. There's no use in trying to prove anything; he doesn't have the patience or ability to. Humans can't be taught a new perspective like this. The hazard of a _ghoul_ is prevident day one of a newborn's life, and it's impossible to unlearn something as ingrained as that. He stands up, ruffling the hair that sticks out from under his beanie, and concludes, "Don't believe everything you see on TV, kid."

The girl contorts her face, pouting. "Now what does _that_ mean?"

Jungkook doesn't feel like answering. He takes his capsules and walks straight out of building, not bothering to look behind him and check if the girl gets the lollipop out of her hair. (The wailing scream that bursts out of her mouth indicates that yes, she does.)

—

When the clock strikes ten, the illumination from the sun long gone, Seokjin returns to Cypher after a long day of traveling around the city — he has a recurring habit of punctuality, and it's hard to break even as he's reaching his mid-twenties. Even though the cafe has been closed all day, he still enters the kitchen to ensure everything is where it belongs, no missing butter sticks or flour bags, soup ladles or spatulas. There had been an incident, a few months ago, that regarded a dormouse that would refuse to keep its tiny claws to itself, stealing tidbits of food left and right. Jungkook wanted to trap it, lure it from its hole with cheese, but Seokjin let the rodent go in peace.

Lives are worth something, in the long-run, no matter how little.

As it seems, nothing is wrong in the inventories. The doors and windows are all locked; the floors and tables are spotless. The proud manager cheers to himself, giggling, and decides to head upstairs to check on Jungkook. Knowing him, he should be in the media room, watching hour-long variety shows like Running Man or Infinity Challenge. There are typically reruns during this time of the year, but Jungkook likes those the best.

No surprise, the young boy is there in front of the television, swaddled in a blanket on the floor. There's a bowl of what looks to be chunks of a human arm beside him, pieces of which he slips into his mouth absently. His eyes aren't on the screen but on a scattering of music sheets and notebooks below him, where he seems to be in the middle of composing and lyricizing, wooden pencil in hand. It's not an odd sight, but Seokjin doesn't get to see this view often.

He quietly steps into the room and taps on the ghoul's back, effectively causing Jungkook to jolt in shock and then sneer petulantly. He was too engrossed in his work and probably hadn't seen him come in — how cute. "Jungkook, how was your outing? Is everything in order?" asks Seokjin.

The boy shrugs. He crawls over to his coat, hung on the back of a chair, and takes out Seokjin's wallet. "Can't say," he sighs, giving it back to the owner. He goes back to his notes, writing messily. "It felt like a pretty normal day. Almost."

"But that's not bad," Seokjin says. Inside his wallet there's a Gudetama keychain, and he smiles softly. He unravels the scarf around his neck and hangs it over the back of the couch, swiping a chunk from Jungkook's bowl and taking a seat. "Any episodes, then? Unusual events that I should hear about?"

Shrugging again, Jungkook flips through the channels, stopping at a brightly colored cartoon and squinting. "I didn't punch a little girl in the face today." Seokjin chokes promptly, the piece of food lodging itself wrong in his throat, and he laughs. He sobers up quickly, though. "I tried talking to her. About life. Humans. The world. It didn't turn out too well, but... I imagined I was you." He tries to be discreet as he glances at Seokjin. "Are you proud of me, hyung?"

Seokjin has an over the top, ear to ear grin on his face. The pinks of his cheeks look even more alive. "Yes, Jungkook. I am." He stands up, full of energy, and asks giddily, "Do you want some coffee?"

Jungkook wets his lips and nods. "That'd be great, hyung. Thanks." When Seokjin returns after some time, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand, he thanks him again and inhales the savory aroma. It makes him feel cozy, safe. A single sip perks him up, and he places the cup on the table above him.

Seokjin hums, forgoes his seat on the couch, and joins Jungkook on the floor, nestling himself against the younger boy's side and causing him to grunt in annoyance. He drinks from his burning hot cappuccino, large swigs that are only possible for a coffee lover such as himself. "What's this new song about, Kookie?" he asks curiously. "Or is it an old, unfinished one that you're picking back up again? You have a lot of works in progress."

The question lights a fire in Jungkook's eyes, a repressed excitement, and he clears his throat and responds smoothly, "I don't know. I think I had an idea a long time ago, but I'm finally starting it now." He scratches out a lyric and replaces it with an asterisk. "I needed some... encouragement."

"Where did your inspiration come from?" inquires Seokjin. When Jungkook isn't looking, he tries reading some of the lyrics over his shoulder. There are long words that he doesn't know, made up of several characters; Jungkook must have put what he learned in school into this piece of work. Seokjin wonders briefly if Jungkook wants to learn more, get a better education — go off on his own.

"Lollipops."

Seokjin turns his head and feels the corners of his lips quirk up. "Oh, really?"

"Cypher," Jungkook continues. The tips of his ears are red. "You."

"You're talking a lot about me, today," Seokjin laughs. "Will you show me the finished product?"

" _Hyung_ ," Jungkook grumbles, like he wants nothing more than to dig himself a hole in the dirt and then suffocate in it.

Seokjin holds up a hand in mock surrender and sighs, with a smile, "Okay, I got it. Private business, Kookie-only." He nudges Jungkook's side with an elbow. "But show me when you're ready, okay?"

Swallowing nervously, Jungkook nods. "You, Yoongi hyung, and Taehyung," he affirms, without looking up from his notes. Seokjin has that expression again, the one that makes Jungkook feel like he has someone to call family, or even— no, maybe not. "One day."

There are two more empty capsules on his shelf, but Jungkook doesn't feel any less full.

 


	11. false bravado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [insert bowing person emoji here]
> 
> all of you are gr8, wonderful, fantastic! i'm glad so many ppl like this story, and it's honestly a lot more people than i thought would....... like wow u give me so much credit for my story, my writing.. all of your comments are so uplifting to me, and i'm SERIOUSLy in awe of you readers [insert heart emoji x1000 here]
> 
> i havent been around in a Long Time, so this is a longer chapter (11.5k ish, wtf) to try to make up for it. it's the longest so far actually!!!! (i only proof'ed it once, so if there are typos i'll fix them up later lmao)
> 
> [suicide cw in this, tho, amongst other things. it gets pretty heavy in this chapter. u have been warned]

“Bleh.” Jimin sticks out his tongue, attempting to rid off the foul taste of the creation that _should_ be a waffle but most certainly is not.

“Is it bad?” Taehyung asks tentatively, nervously propping his arms over the table. His coffee is in his favorite cup from the cafe — a ceramic mug that has golden ducklings all over its handle and rim.

Jimin nods, too many times to count, unfortunately. “Tae-Tae, I love you with all my heart, but you really need to learn how to cook better.” He holds up the offending waffle and wiggles it in front of Taehyung’s face. “It’s sixty-percent milk, forty-percent sugar. Like, unnaturally soggy.”

“Hey, I tried,” defends Taehyung. “I followed the recipe!”

Jimin gives him an unimpressed look. “Did you _taste_ it?” he asks carefully.

Taehyung bites his lip as he shakes his head. “I didn’t have the chance to,” he lies, tugging on his tie. It’s powder blue, which doesn’t actually match Cypher’s concept, but Seokjin had allowed it anyway.

“Y’know, Tae, I know you have horrible hangovers, but they shouldn’t last _this_ long.” Jimin sips from his styrofoam cup, filled with cinnamon-spiced hot cocoa made from a packet. “You can never eat in the mornings afterwards, which sucks, but it’s been four whole days since the party! Buck up!”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, plucking the string of his eye patch. “Bucking up.”

Over New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, the two of them had gone to celebrate with some friends/acquaintances at a house party in the downtown area. The amount of attenders were astonishing — though Jimin knew a good portion of them while Taehyung could name a few. A handful of them heard of Taehyung’s accident and commemorated his miraculous recovery; others raised their glasses to another fleeting year without care for some college sophomore they vaguely were aware about. (Many complimented his eye patch. Some drunkards asked if he was “trying to make a fashion statement against conformity,” and after Googling the word, he told them no.)

Early in the night Seungcheol, a second year and a self-acclaimed mixologist, had distributed alcohol to everyone — even Taehyung. Like many other things, Taehyung had known he most likely couldn’t consume it, but that didn’t stop him from trying. The liquid burned harsh down his throat, like used car fuel and lighter fluid, and he almost starting choking. His attempt led to a rushed endeavor to the nearest bathroom, where he had coincidentally met a couple in the bathtub.

It had been hard to tell if the two men being gay made things more or less awkward for Taehyung. He hadn’t noticed them, honestly, until after he had puked up the sip of beer he’d just taken. He put his cheek on the toilet seat, disregarding hygiene for a brief moment of rest, and saw the couple huddled together in the bathtub, staring at him in mild concern. One of the males, dark-haired and skinny, crawled out to counsel Taehyung and ask him if he was alright. (Although he never mentioned a name, Taehyung had been reminded of Seokjin.) His partner was totally silent during the whole exchange, which was a little unnerving but appreciated — Taehyung didn’t want to talk much anyway.

Jimin had found him who-knows-how-long later, scooping him up and hastily ushering him back to his apartment, thanking the couple who looked after his sickly companion. At first, Taehyung was nervous Jimin would suspect something, but his friend was only looking out for his health and harbored no such suspicions. Plus, Jimin has been well aware of Taehyung’s weak tolerance to alcohol and his typical adverse reactions to it.

Several days have passed since they’ve had to put up a new calendar. What Jimin currently perceives as an extended hangover is actually what it’s like for Taehyung to starve himself — he still hasn’t eaten anything yet. There’s a package of food sitting in his freezer, given to him by Seokjin, but it’s been untouched for days. Coffee can only help his appetite so much, even with the special sugar cubes which he’d been told would alleviate some of his hunger. Taehyung knows that he’ll have to eat sooner or later, or he might go on a rampage again… and that wouldn’t be good for anyone.

But now, for as long as he can, he’ll stall. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t been feeling my greatest lately,” he admits to Jimin.

Sighing loudly, Jimin drums his fingertips on the side of his cup and suggests, “You should visit the hospital, Tae.” His tone is serious. He asks carefully, “Are you taking your medication?”

Medication? Huh. Taehyung had never gotten any after his stay at the hospital, now that he thinks about it. The doctors may have sent in an order for him, but for the last month he hasn’t gotten a call notifying him to pick up a prescription  from the pharmacy. “I don’t have any,” he says. Jimin stares at him skeptically and he insists, “Dr. Shim and Dr. Jung just let me out of the hospital without them!”

“What?” Jimin creases his eyebrows, frowns. “How could they do that? Didn’t they have to give you painkillers, antibiotics, or— or something?”

Taehyung shrugs. “Don’t ask me, I’m not a doctor.”

Jimin scoffs. “Well, _duh_. I’m just saying…” He trails off as he drinks his hot cocoa, pensive. “It’s just something to think about, then. If you’re in any pain, you should try to make yourself feel better.”

Medicine happens to be on that mental list of _Things Taehyung Hasn’t Tried Yet_ , so… “I’ll call the docs tomorrow.” He smiles, too. “I’m fine.”

“Taehyung, I think that you—” Jimin stops himself as Jungkook patters down the stairs, fixing his scarlet tie. “Oi, it’s Jeon Jungkook! Good morning, sunshine! You are absolutely stunning today!” he exclaims, in the manner of how a dog would greet their owner after a long day’s work. Jungkook proceeds to scowl at him, roll his eyes, and head into the kitchen.

“The more you do that, the more you’ll annoy him,” Taehyung says.

Jimin brushes off the remark, shrugging. “Yeah, but I’m only saying the truth. Besides, he looks like a kid who needs some of that positive reassurance. Good vibes, from the person with the best vibes out there.” He (inaccurately) imitates Jungkook, slouching with eyebrows pinched together. “Y’know. He’s gloomy.”

“Jungkook isn’t gloomy,” Taehyung defends, though he doesn’t understand why he’s so quick to do so. “He isn’t as fond of… people as you or I am.” He flushes when Jimin raises an eyebrow and takes a swig of his coffee. “That’s what I’m guessing.”

“ _Sure_ you are.”

Seokjin enters the cafe not long after that, holding a green folder, snowflakes clinging to his coat. “Hello, Taehyung,” he greets, with a smile. “Hello, Jimin.” His eyes are downcast, and Taehyung wonders if something’s happened.

However, Jimin doesn’t seem to notice anything off. “Hi, hyung,” he says cheerily. “What’s that in your hand?”

“Oh, this? Ah, well…” Seokjin lets his gaze linger on the folder for a moment and then replies, “Some nasty paperwork. Trust me; you don’t want to know.” As he shows off a lovely grin, Jungkook walks out of the kitchen, and Seokjin calls out to him.

“What? Do you need me for something?” Jungkook asks. He talks rapidly, not to be curt but because that’s his way of speaking. “Hyung?”

“No—” Seokjin cuts off, and then nods slowly. “Actually, yes. You and Taehyung, both.”

The boy not called pouts and points to himself, glum. “Not Jimin?” he says, pseudo-crestfallen. Seokjin chuckles and shakes his head. Jimin snaps his fingers. “Rats. How about next time?”

Walking over to their table, Seokjin lightly bats the top of Jimin’s head with the folder. “Nice try, but these instances are when I conduct meetings with my employees.” He raises his eyebrows. “Unless you want to start working here?”

Jimin hums, rubbing his chin in thought. “Cypher’s schedule conflicts with some of my musical rehearsals, so that’s a no-no. Even on Saturdays I have a vocal lesson!” He grins. “Maybe after March, hyung, when my schedule is more free. Sounds good?”

“Don’t let him,” Taehyung says, playful. Jimin sneers, sips from his mug, and sticks out his tongue.

Seokjin tugs on Taehyung’s tie, gentle, and motions to Jungkook. “Come with me, you two. This is pretty important, and I don’t want to put it off.” He turns to Jimin, expression grateful, and asks, “Jimin, even though you aren’t a worker here, would you mind watching over the store for a while?”

Sitting straighter in his seat, Jimin salutes his elder and proclaims passionately, “Sir, yes, sir!” As the employees ascend the stairs, he waves cheerily and blows sweet kisses at Jungkook. Jungkook either doesn’t see or flat-out ignores him, which makes Taehyung smile.

They settle in Seokjin’s office, on the couch, Jungkook casually draping himself on one end as Taehyung takes the other. Seokjin shuts the door behind them, heads over to his file cabinet, and tucks that green folder inside the topmost compartment. Once he closes it he’s silent, staring at the tips of his nails, and sighs.

Taehyung _knows_ that something must be amiss. After he pulls off his eye patch he asks, “Are you okay, hyung? You seem out of it.”

Seokjin perks up, moving to smooth the creases on his collar. “Just a little distracted, no need to fret,” he assures. He clears his throat, puts on a smile, and announces, “We’re going on a trip tonight.”

“No lesson?” says Taehyung, disappointed. He quite likes their brief lessons after the workday, pieces of knowledge that he never would have discovered unless he resided with this particular crowd. The last lesson had touched on the various “cliques” of ghouls in South Korea, or who keeps close to whom. The idea had reminded Taehyung of high school lunchrooms, which made him nostalgic.

Seokjin nods. “No lesson,” he confirms. “Some things came up, which now makes this trip priority.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes, seemingly doubtful. “What _things_?”

A warm glow highlights Seokjin’s face as he responds, frank, “Secret things. You don’t have to know about them.” Jungkook grows noticeably meeker after that, and Seokjin goes on.

“Let’s say this a more hands-on activity rather than a sit-down discussion. It’s not something that I’ve talked with you, Taehyung, specifically about, but I feel that since I must run this errand now you may as well come along and learn.” He adds a brief pause, and then: “Jungkook should come, as well.”

“ _What_ ,” Jungkook whines, only to be shushed by Seokjin. “Why does he say it like I have a choice in the matter,” he murmurs, brittle. Taehyung reaches to sympathetically pat his shoulder and is surprised he isn’t rejected.

“You don’t, but you know you will. You’re a good kid,” Seokjin says. Jungkook rolls his eyes. “We’re leaving the city for a few hours, so I’ll have to close up shop early when the time comes. Are you kids fine with all this?”

Jungkook, still sulking, offers a halfhearted shrug. “Less work for me.” He adds quickly: “I call shotgun.”

“I’m down,” says Taehyung. “It sounds like it’ll be a lot of fun!” He looks at Jungkook for another voice of agreement, but the boy just clucks his tongue. Taehyung frowns. “Or, you know, educational.”

Seokjin claps his hands together. “Wonderful! We’ll leave right after Cypher closes, then.” He continues, “Make sure you dress warm; we’ll be outside for most of the night. And if you can, Jungkook, bring along a few flashlights.”

“Extra batteries, too?”

“That’d be helpful. I think I saw some in the supply closet downstairs,” Seokjin says. “Would you mind fetching them?” Jungkook makes a sour face, and then he gets up and leaves the room.

“Now with him gone, I can have a heart-to-heart with you, Taehyung. How does that sound?”

“What, with _me_?” Taehyung doesn’t usually do heart-to-hearts with anyone. Once, Jimin made him open up after his long stage of depression. It felt hazy, dizzying, almost like he had too much to drink and was on the verge of blacking out. It hadn’t been a good feeling. “Do I have to?”

“Well,” Seokjin starts off, “the thing is, Taehyung, letting out your emotions every now and then is healthy. I tell Jungkook all the time. Bottling things up isn’t good for your heart.”

“Hyung, you sound like Jimin.”

“Jimin must have a good heart, then,” Seokjin hums.

Taehyung holds his hands together. He thinks about the friendship that’s surpassed ten years, Jimin’s constant doting on Taehyung, late night phone calls and money slipped under pillows and — and yeah, yeah he does.

“I like Cypher,” Taehyung begins, awkward. Seokjin looks positively giddy as he continues, “You and Jungkook have made me feel welcome, even though I’m an outsider in every way, shape, and form. Even though I’m a bumbling fool who doesn’t know his own identity.” He can feel his frustrations come back to him all at once, and tears threaten to fall from his eyes. “Geez, _this_ is why I don’t like these things,” he laughs miserably.

“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” Seokjin says, with that radiant smile that makes Taehyung think he’s home.

“But it’s gross,” grumbles Taehyung, scrubbing at his eyes. “My snot is gonna come out.” Seokjin chuckles as he passes him a tissue box. “See, hyung, you’re so nice about it. About me. Before— before I became a— a ghoul, I had a lot of stuff on my plate. College is hard, and money is always tight. Nothing about that has changed, but right now I’m… I’m taking a break. And healing.”

“You can always reach out for help, Taehyung. No one will stop you. In fact, I’m sure we’d appreciate it if you did.” Seokjin pats Taehyung on the back before inquiring, “How did you handle everything before you met us?”

“Well, honestly, Jimin — he held my hand for a lot of things,” admits Taehyung. “At the beginning of high school my mom… she passed away. She was sick, for a long time, but I— I couldn’t believe it when she died.” He laughs, and it hurts to hear how hollow it sounds. “How could she leave me, her only son? I needed her, but she wasn’t coming back. I needed her, but she was gone forever.” He takes a deep breath, steadying his words. “Jimin made sure I was taking care of myself, because I had to learn how to live without her. Even though she left money with me I didn’t have much, so Jimin took it upon himself to make me his personal donation box. I didn’t want to burden him more than I already was so I worked odd jobs here and there — and he did, too, to get the spare cash.”

Seokjin seems affected by that detail, wincing minutely the moment Taehyung stops. “Was your high school life bearable for you both? Did you struggle?” he asks.

Taehyung shrugs. “Me and Jimin were pretty average, in school. We passed our classes, did some extracurricular activities. I was only in choir, but Jimin was a member of the dance team, art club, _and_ choir. He really likes to push himself, but I don’t think I could go to such lengths. Jimin is really amazing.” Suddenly, his face lights up as he reveals almost boastingly, “This one time I got a confession letter.”

Immediately, Seokjin’s expression changes into one of bemusement, and he pesters Taehyung with possible traits: “Dyed hair? Ear piercings? A pretty girl? An underclassman? Oh, dear, an _upper_ classman?”

The list Seokjin comes up with goes on for mile, somehow, and Taehyung has to stop him by declaring, “I don’t know, actually.” Seokjin deflates at this statement, frowning subtly. “When I went up to the rooftop no one was there. I looked around and waited, too, but they were a no-show.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I never told Jimin about it because I was so embarrassed I’d been tricked so easily.”

“Maybe your secret admirer was too shy,” proposes Seokjin, “or maybe the date was wrong.”

Taehyung smiles regretfully. “Yeah, I thought that for a while, so I went up to the rooftop every day after that. It was during our lunch break, but still. Nobody came, and I felt silly.”

“You had hope. There’s nothing silly about being optimistic,” Seokjin says. “Kids who have hope are the bravest, most courageous of them all. Hope is a scary thing, Taehyung, and those who wield its power are stronger than anyone I can think of.”

It takes all of Taehyung’s willpower not to burst into laughter. “That sounds like something you pulled from a kids’ show, hyung,” he snickers. “Why do you always say the cheesiest things?”

Seokjin isn’t fazed at Taehyung’s light teasing. “Years of practice,” he replies wittily. He stands up, patting off his knees. “Should we mark this session over?”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “What are you, a therapist?” Seokjin, in return, sighs. “You know I’m kidding, hyung. You’re a good friend, listening to my troubles — even though you forced me, but whatever.”

Seokjin, like he normally does with Jungkook, ignores the comment in favor of strolling towards the door and says, “Oh, I hope Jimin is faring well down there.”

“Jimin is fine,” scoffs Taehyung, trailing after his elder. “He’s a big boy and can take care of himself.”

Humming, Seokjin gives him a challenging stare. “But can he take care of my shop, is the real question.” To that, Taehyung can only grin.

Downstairs, the two face a visibly nervous Park Jimin, pacing in front of the entrance. As he takes sight of them, he latches onto Taehyung’s front and babbles, “There was someone standing outside the window, Tae, and I didn’t know what to do about them so I— I locked the door.” He whimpers pitifully, “Don’t hire me.”

Before Jimin leaves to his musical rehearsal, Seokjin gives him a sandwich for his troubles and bids him better luck in the entertainment business.

—

“Back in Seokjin hyung’s car,” trills Taehyung. As he climbs into the backseat he takes in the daunting sight of stray folders, crumpled napkins, and loose change all around. “It’s messier than last time,” he comments offhandedly.

Jungkook slams the door on him, which Taehyung had left open, and effectively makes him jolt. He starts to say something on the other side, but Taehyung can’t hear. It takes a few moments of lip-reading, but it looks like he’s saying: “Why are you making that face? Are you a mutt?”

Oh. Okay. Taehyung pulls his white scarf tighter around his face and is glad he doesn’t have to wear his eyepatch. It gets irritating.

Outside, Jungkook talks with Seokjin — the scene looking more and more like an argument. After they’re done, Seokjin looking smug, he jerks open the door he’d just closed to bring in a gust of scented wind as he plops beside Taehyung.

Tentatively, Taehyung scoots closer and sniffs at Jungkook’s shoulder. “You smell different,” he announces. He’s quick to clarify it, with stutters and nervous and hand gestures, “Well, it’s just that— You know— Not _bad_ different, but sort of a— You smell. Nice.” He closes his mouth and concludes awkwardly, “Like lilacs.”

Jungkook’s expression is unreadable, but Taehyung can only assume he’s appalled or disgusted… or weirded out, at the very least. He turns away to bang at the windows with his fist. “Seokjin hyung,” he yella. “Hurry up and start the goddamn car.”

Ever so slowly, Seokjin takes his sweet time getting in the driver’s seat and starting the ignition. “Are you boys comfortable back there? Warm?” he asks, after a few moments. “My heating is a little old and getting rusty, so it may take a while.”

“You’re the only thing here that’s old, hyung,” snorts Jungkook. “Don’t blame the car. We’ll live.”

Seokjin purses his lips. As he drives onto the main road he proclaims pointedly, “I am not _old_. I am only twenty-three. And just for that comment I’m not letting you pick the music.”

Jungkook reacts instantly, eyes wide and disbelieving. “Hyung!” he exclaims petulantly, much like a child who had his favorite toy taken from him. “I always pick the music. The aux cord and my phone are practically married.” He scowls. “Plus, hyung, your music is too old-school. No offense.”

“Old-school?” echoes Seokjin. “Kookie, how could I not be offended?” He tugs at the aux cord and holds it behind him, but before Jungkook can snatch it he says, “Taehyung, you can choose what we’re listening to tonight.”

Jungkook’s reaction is, in every way, priceless.

Taehyung takes the cord, astonished. “Me? Are you sure? My taste in music a little weird.”

“That’s what everyone says,” Seokjin says gratifyingly. “As long as you avoid heavy metal and lullabies, I think you’re fine.” He peeks in the rearview mirror, seeing Taehyung plugging in the cord to his phone and Jungkook hovering over his shoulder. The sight makes him feel nostalgic. “Are you a trot person?” he asks, causing Taehyung to look up.

“Yeah, I like it! Ah, but I don’t have that genre on my phone.” Taehyung hums quietly, fingers pausing on his screen. “Trot songs… remind me of my mom. When I was a kid, she sang them all the time — while she did the laundry, cooked dinner, tucked me in bed. Hearing them was comforting to me. Her voice was beautiful, and I loved whenever she would burst into song because, then, I’d join her. We had a ton of fun, singing and dancing. During one of my parent-teacher conferences we sang together while we waited for my homeroom teacher, but we didn’t know that the entire second floor could hear us, too.” He lets out a brief laugh. “So embarrassing.”

When he takes a shy glance to the side he’s taken aback at Jungkook who stares intently at his face, lips parted just barely, as if he has something he wants to say. There’s a glimmer in his eyes, one that Taehyung has never seen before, bright and intrigued and really, really beautiful. The moment is short-lived, however, and Jungkook’s gaze swiftly returns to his lap where his hands fist themselves atop his thighs, knuckles white, before Taehyung can get another word out. Taehyung sighs.

Jungkook is like a hermit crab. (He’s mentioned being a hermit before, which gave Taehyung the whole idea.) He resides in a protective shell, spacious enough to only fit himself, brittle enough to tell others to keep away. But Taehyung is forever curious about this antisocial hermit crab. He’s tried to nudge him out of his shell, attempting friendliness and camaraderie, but whenever Taehyung thinks he’s overcome the obstacle Jungkook moves into another shell. Maybe someday Taehyung will be able to get him to pop his head out for more than a millisecond of time.

A few songs have gone by, and the mood in the car has calmed. “Jungkook,” Taehyung says, poking the boy’s knee, “why aren’t you sitting in the front seat? I thought you called shotgun.”

Seokjin, observant as ever, answers for him: “We’re going to carpool!” Jungkook puffs out his cheeks slightly, sulking, and Taehyung has to restrain himself from poking his face. “We’ll be at his home in a few more minutes.”

“Who?” Taehyung wonders aloud.

“I’ll introduce you when you meet him,” Seokjin promises. “Ah, but don’t let his looks fool you — he’s a total softie.”

Surprised, Jungkook stammers incredulously, “Wait a— _That_ hyung is coming? Seokjin hyung, Are you kidding me? _Softie_!?”

“When you don’t anger him, he is a nice guy,” claims Seokjin. “And when he’s not in a game or competition.” He hesitates. “If you bother Sanghyuk, that’s a death wish right there.” A few seconds go by, and he realizes he’s better off saying: “Well, he’s a softie to me.”

“He doesn’t sound that soft at all,” murmurs Taehyung. Jungkook, face hardened, seems to agree.

When they pull up to a townhouse that is without light, color, and any sign of life, the term “soft” gets thrown out the ballpark yet again. If there’s suddenly a burst of lightning to accompany the hooded figure emerging from the house, Taehyung would believe it wholeheartedly if someone told him he’s about to face the final boss of the castle to win back the heart of the princess. He’s not sure how prepared his attack, defense, and speed stats are (or who the princess would be, for any matter), but something in his gut tells him that even with all the potions in the world he would never make it out of this battle alive.

“This,” Seokjin begins, as the figure enters the car with _very_ unsettling fluidity, “is Taekwoon. He’s a ghoul, two years older than me, and one of my closest friends.” He pats Taekwoon on the arm. “Say hi.”

“Hello,” deadpans Taekwoon, voice alarmingly airy. Taehyung can’t get a good look at him, from where he’s sitting, but it sounds like he’s scowling. Almost like a scarier version of Jungkook.

“We — me and Yoongi hyung — call him Snow White,” whispers Jungkook, narrowing his eyes at the back of Taekwoon’s head. He bites down a smirk. “He loves feeding wild animals, singing, and Prince Charming’s kiss. Out of character, don’t you think?”

“Shut it,” growls Taekwoon, and Jungkook flinches. Taehyung frowns.

Nonchalantly, Seokjin adds, “He has very good hearing abilities, as well.” He switches gears and drives.

The ride doesn’t change much from before; Taehyung’s music still plays, Jungkook broods in the corner, and Seokjin leads them deeper into the unknown. Taekwoon stays hunched forward, totally silent, and Taehyung can only assume he’s fallen asleep. If he isn’t sleeping, his presence would be more unnerving than it already is.

That’s to be expected. The only other ghoul Taehyung has met is Yoongi, and despite his aloof attitude his demeanor can be intimidating at times. Ghouls are still scary, to him, and growing out of the fear is difficult. But things aren’t as black and white as what he’s been told over the course of his human life, so Taehyung is trying to understand. Trying to understand ghouls, Cypher, Jungkook — himself. There’s more to the world than heroes and villains.

When they’ve reached a long and wide bridge, metallic and rusting, Seokjin pulls the car over and puts it in park. Everyone steps out and stretches; the drive had been close to an hour. Jungkook fishes out the flashlights he’d found and hands them to Taekwoon and Seokjin.

“We’re here,” announces Seokjin, pointlessly, placing an arm on the railing that separates the bridge from the nothingness below, looking down thoughtfully.

Jungkook sighs loudly. “ _Finally_.” His knuckles are pink, without gloves, as his fingers run through his hair.

Taehyung stuffs his hands in his coat pocket, having forgotten his gloves, too. He looks around, not seeing much farther, the darkness too heavy to look through. The car is still on, its headlights breaking some of the night, and Taehyung finally can get a decent look at Taekwoon.

The ghoul is broad-shouldered and lean, a little taller than Taehyung. Like the famous Snow White, his complexion is somehow paler than Yoongi’s, cheekbones and jawline sharp. He looks so much like a model, with an unbuttoned tailored coat that reveals a slim-fitting striped shirt. His expression, though, isn’t as sullen as Taehyung had thought — a face of neutrality, puckered lips, and a commanding gaze.

Quite seriously, Taehyung ponders the notion of Taekwoon being a vampire. When they meet eyes, abruptly, he feels a chill run down his spine, not exactly in fear — when a new school day is about to start, on the edge of the seat anticipation, is more like it. Taekwoon looks at him like he’s a startled woodland creature.

“Where is ‘here’?” asks Taehyung, clearing his throat. “This is just a bridge, hyung. There’s a bit of forest. We’re not camping, are we? I don’t have any supplies, or survivalist knowledge.”

“No,” Seokjin says. He’s still looking over the edge of the railing, his bright attitude having become muted. He doesn’t speak, nor does anyone else, until after a deathly pause and an agonizing breeze that makes Taehyung’s scarf wave in the wind. “We’re picking up food.”

Taehyung’s blood runs cold. “Don’t tell me,” he murmurs, but he already knows, his gut twisting in knots. “Don’t say it,” and he wants to cover his ears and run. Jungkook is staring at him with pity in his eyes. “Don’t… Please, _don’t_.”

“We have to,” Seokjin insists, and the plea cuts through Taehyung’s skin like glass.

“This is a suicide hot spot,” declares Taekwoon, gaze trained on the stars. Taehyung blanches.

“For you to have faith in us, as ghouls, we need you to see how we aren’t what society makes us to be.” Seokjin walks a few steps and opens up a gate to a narrow stairway, leading downward, shining the light on the steps. “Come carefully, Taehyung.”

Frightened into compliance, Jungkook at his front and Taekwoon at his heels, Taehyung follows Seokjin one step after the other. His hands are trembling even as he clutches the railing, and he really wishes he had his gloves. In the moonlight his skin appears translucent, but maybe that’s his imagination — he’s not dead, no, he’s not dead.

And he shouldn’t have to see dead people to know that.

“I can’t do this,” cries Taehyung, shoulders tensed. Everyone stops, but no one meets his eyes. “I can’t do this. I won’t do _this_ . Why didn’t anyone _tell_ me—”

“Because you’d act just like this,” says Jungkook. He brings his head up and looks, really looks at Taehyung.

The next few seconds feel surreal, dream-like. Gentle, Jungkook places his hand on top of Taehyung’s, resting his palm on the stressed knuckles. Jungkook carefully pulls Taehyung’s cemented fingers from the railing and makes his hand clasp his own. No interwoven fingers, no lacing that fits together like they’re strung on a pair of shoes. There’s no other meaning to this except reassurance, an anchor for Taehyung who may get swept away in the rapid currents — but Jungkook’s hand, which had always seemed so far away, is so close and so warm.

“Don’t let go,” says Jungkook. “If you can’t take it, just squeeze real hard — but don’t let go.” He turns around. “Seokjin hyung said this was important, and it is. Don’t just take his word for it.”

Taehyung nods slowly. They continue their descent.

At the foot the stairwell there is a patch of grass, green and speckled with snow. Most of the ground is dry dirt, mounds of collected snow unevenly spread. The trees scattered around shroud the after dark with shadows and rustle as the wind blows. Seokjin and Taekwoon take lead, flashlights giving off halos of light, while the two younger boys follow close behind. Taehyung gives Jungkook’s hand a squeeze, and Jungkook holds on tighter.

After a couple minutes of walking aimlessly, Seokjin speaks. “We don’t kill humans,” he declares. “This is how we, and many other ghouls, get our food. Because transportation of bodies is dangerous, and increasing in danger for untrained ghouls, we carry out the retrievals and offer them to those who are in need of sustenance.”

Taehyung gnaws at his lip. “At Cypher? That’s where you have ghouls come and go?” Somehow, in the dim light, he sees Seokjin nod. “Why? Why… Why suicide victims?”

Taekwoon’s voice matches the silence, almost as inaudible. “We take people who have chosen to die. We do not wish to harm those who want to live. That is the difference between ghouls and monsters.”

“He’s talking about humans,” pipes Jungkook, staring into the distance. “The monsters.”

Taehyung defends, “Not all humans, though.” The words have weight on his tongue, and he wants nothing more than to take them back. “I— I meant—”

“You’d think,” drawls Taekwoon, halting his steps, “you would allow the metonymy.”

Taehyung gives Jungkook’s hand another squeeze, but he doesn’t receive a response this time.

They’ve stopped at a clearing, flashlights illuminating the ground. Strewn over the land are five bodies, limbs bending at odd angles and dried blood caking the skin. One of the bodies has a high school uniform on, the shirt untucked from the skirt. Another has its eyes wide open. Their faces have no shape, caved cheeks and colorless lips. The hair upon their heads looks barely out of place, combed into braids or flattened onto their foreheads. The body of the person in the uniform has dyed orange locks, and a cell phone in her hand. It vibrates and dings with dozens of messages: She’d been recent.

Taehyung gags at the sight, the grotesque states these humans have driven themselves to. These people had lived lives like any other… How could they kill themselves? He can’t comprehend it, and rogue tears spill down his face like molten lava. All the while he grips feebly at Jungkook’s hand, the only thing keeping him sane.

Seokjin makes a slight motion to Taekwoon, who wordlessly goes back whence they came. In less than thirty seconds he returns with a handful of black body bags. He and Seokjin work together to put the bodies into the bags, careful, as Jungkook and Taehyung watch. Before he touches a corpse, Seokjin murmurs under his breath — what he says goes beyond Taehyung.

“Do you know who they are?” Taehyung asks. His nose is running, the tear trails feel like glue stuck on his cheeks, but his voice doesn’t waver.

Seokjin is crouched next to a body of a suited man, the lenses of his glasses cracked. “Sometimes,” he starts, “there are IDs or wallets that they left behind in their pockets. Sometimes they carry goodbye notes.” He pauses, resumes packing the bodies. “Most of the time we don’t know.”

“That’s good,” mumbles Taehyung. Jungkook gives him a look, curious. “It’d hurt more, if you knew. It’d hurt a lot.”

Jungkook shows him a small smile, fragile around the edges. “You talk,” he says, “like a philosopher.”

“Do I?”

“You could lie straight to my face, yet the way you handle your words would make me believe you.” Jungkook smiles wider, and something inside Taehyung flutters. With that beanie, he looks so young. “Although I don’t know much about philosophy and philosophers, to be honest.”

Taehyung agrees, “Me neither.” He watches as Taekwoon zips up a bag, hovering his hand above it and closing his eyes. Taehyung swallows, and finds his mouth has been watering — Jungkook hadn’t noticed.

Seokjin and Taekwoon finish packing the corpses, black bags full on the cold ground. Their faces don’t look grim, but as close to normal as they could possibly be. Seokjin has his features calm, and Taekwoon has the remnants of a laugh upon his lips.

“Done?” asks Jungkook.

“All set,” affirms Taekwoon.

Seokjin scrutinizes Taehyung, then, and questions, “When’s the last time you’ve eaten?”

Taehyung is taken aback. “Don’t remember,” he lies quickly. Seokjin and Jungkook don’t look fooled at all, and Taekwoon continues his stoicness. “Last month,” he confesses, repentant. “I haven’t eaten since.”

Sighing, Seokjin shakes his head. “Taehyung, you can’t be satisfied with just that,” he chides. He unzips a body bag and commands, “Eat. Only a little.”

Taehyung clenches his jaw and droops his gaze. The grass at his feet is flat, murky yellow. There’s a crumpled receipt for McDonald’s in the dirt. “I can’t do it.”

“You don’t have to look,” says Seokjin. “You don’t have to think about it.”

“It’s still… I can’t—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jungkook interrupts. His hand squeezes Taehyung’s, sending forth a burst of warmth. “You’re going to starve yourself like this.” For a moment, he looks… upset. “You’re going to go mad.”

The “again” that should follow is implied. When Taehyung had first gone hungry, had lost control of whatever he’d become, Yoongi had brought him to Cypher. The morning after had been confusing for him, but what about Jungkook? What about Seokjin? Taehyung has not once asked how they felt on that day. What had they thought of Kim Taehyung, left on the doorstep like an abandoned child? For Jungkook to worry so sincerely about him—

Taehyung blindly takes whatever Seokjin hands him and shoves it in his mouth. He chews, and chews, and chews, and swallows down with some difficulty. It sticks to the insides of his mouth and throat, cold and fleshy. His appetite is satisfied, compared to how empty it had been before. Shuddering, he opens his eyes and takes several deep breaths. Jungkook’s hand must be losing circulation from how hard Taehyung is gripping it, but he’s still holding on nevertheless.

“Done,” declares Taehyung, wiping his mouth with the back of his free hand. It comes away wet from the tears left on his face. “I’m finished.”

Taekwoon claps softly. “Good job,” he says dully. “You had a snack.” The comment gets him a smack on the neck from Seokjin, which he appears particularly offended by.

“Taehyung, you did well,” proclaims Seokjin, beaming. Taekwoon gathers some body bags and flits away, presumably to pack them into the trunk of the car. Seokjin takes the rest. “Now it’s time to head back.”

“To Cypher?” asks Taehyung.

Seokjin nods. “I’ll drive you back to your place, if you’d prefer, so you don’t have to walk out in the dark.”

“Thanks, hyung,” says Taehyung, after relaying his address. “I appreciate it.” He gives his best smile in return, albeit tight-lipped.

The walk back up the stairs feels effortless compared to the hike down. Seokjin goes before Jungkook, and Jungkook ascends above Taehyung, his hand guiding him instead of the railing. It’s astonishing how warm the hand is — it’s smaller than Taehyung’s but has more strength, for sure. Taehyung wonders what Jungkook would do if he shifted his fingers a bit, interlaced them, hoped for something.

Something? What is the “something” he’s thinking of? Taehyung mentally berates himself before his mind can wander uselessly any further.

At the car, Taekwoon is in the middle of opening up the trunk as another person is sitting near the back wheel. Taehyung doesn’t recognize them, at first, but then he sees red irises and black scleras, a cloth mask around his mouth. The black mask has tiny, intricate bones stitched in white and red.

Yoongi waves languidly upon seeing the three of them approach. He tugs his mask down to his chin, and then cocks his head. “Good evening,” he drawls, and there’s an impish lilt to his greeting. “Did I interrupt a date?”

Jungkook’s hand drops Taehyung’s as if it had been a piece of trash to be discarded. Taehyung immediately misses the warmth, the comfort, and can almost imagine the imprint left on his palm. He balls his hands into fists and then stuffs them in his coat pockets.

“Hello, Yoongi,” says Seokjin. Yoongi grins.

“What are you doing here, hyung?” asks Jungkook, curt. He crosses his arms over his chest, resembling a mother scolding her son.

“Hey,” says Yoongi, holding his hands up defensively, “I heard you were getting leftovers, so I came to nab some. Go ask Taekwoon hyung, if you don’t believe me.”

Taekwoon, after a sigh, nods his head. Then, Taehyung stares blankly at Yoongi, wondering how the ghoul had gotten here and found them. Can he follow scents? Do ghouls have super senses? Does that mean _Taehyung_ has super senses!?

Yoongi snaps his fingers. “You know that staring is rude, man. And it makes me uncomfortable.”

“Sorry,” says Taehyung, coming out of his daze. “I won’t let it happen again.”

Seokjin leaves a body bag in front of Yoongi and stores the rest of them in the trunk. “From whom could you have possibly heard that we were going on a trip from?” he asks.

“Wonshik,” answers Yoongi. “He’s a sweetheart, came over to say hello. You know that he can’t really keep his mouth shut at all when it comes to mindless gossip.” He examines his nails. “And my heating broke at my place, so. Needed to ask someone to fix it.”

“Is that going to be me,” deadpans Taekwoon.

Yoongi feigns astonishment, grinning. “Aw, thanks for offer, Taekwoon hyung. You’re a swell guy.”

“Did I agree to that,” huffs Taekwoon, eyes narrowed. Taehyung doesn’t know how Yoongi can act so calm under that fiery glare.

Tapping his nose, Yoongi proclaims exaggeratedly, “My, my, dear Sanghyuk hasn’t visited me in a few months. Maybe I should dial his number and request a—”

“ _Fine_ ,” sneers Taekwoon. “I’ll stop by in a few days.” Yoongi smiles at his success. “We’re leaving, _now_.”

Yoongi rises to his feet and dusts off his pants. “You don’t have to tell me twice. Your point has come across.” He hoists the body bag into his arms, heading a little ways down the road to a parked motorcycle.

“Have a safe trip home!” exclaims Seokjin. (Jungkook yells, “I hope you fall off your bike,” which gets him a harsh slap on the shoulder.)

“Oh, before I go, Taehyung—” Yoongi settles on his motorcycle, putting on his helmet and wedging the body bag between him and his steering handles, “—have you used the mask yet?”

When Jungkook and Taehyung had visited Yoongi, Yoongi finished the mask after an hour’s work. The final product had the skeletal teeth, the zipper across the middle of the mouth, the bolts against the sides. The night of receiving it Taehyung tried it on at home and modeled in front of the mirror. Aside from that, he hasn’t touched it at all, let alone “used” it — whatever that means. Right now it’s sitting in Taehyung’s bathroom, atop the toilet cover.

“I haven’t.”

Yoongi’s shoulders slump as he sighs. “Pity. I hope you will sooner or later.” He starts his bike and kicks off. “See you later, ghouls.”

With Yoongi gone, the rest of them return to Seokjin’s car, buckling up as Seokjin begins to drive. The seating arrangements are the same, and Taehyung draws circles on the window as it condenses. He texts Jimin whenever the car rolls to a stop. The radio is tuned to a late night talk show, dialed on low volume. Jungkook is quiet, along with Taekwoon and Seokjin, who only hums when a song he knows is playing.

The first stop is Taekwoon’s house. There is someone leaning against the doorframe, yellow hood pulled over their face, watching him leave the car. Before Taekwoon goes back inside he says, “Goodbye, everyone.” He looks in Taehyung’s direction. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Kim Taehyung.”

Taehyung nods. “You, too.” After they’ve driven a block or so, he has to ask, “What was that all about earlier, with Yoongi hyung and Taekwoon? Who’s Wonshik? Who’s Sanghyuk?”

Seokjin chuckles to himself, and Jungkook cracks a smile. “Are we talking about hyung behind his back now?”

“A-Ah, no, I don’t— You see, that’s not what I want to— Okay, I’m a little—”

“Curious,” finishes Seokjin. “Is that it?” Taehyung whimpers in agreement. “Kookie, why don’t you tell him who Sanghyuk is? There’s no harm in it. We can tell him about the rest of them later.”

“Prince Charming,” Jungkook says, and he tugs on the hair below his ear. “To Taekwoon he is, I mean.” He bites his lip and murmurs, “Sanghyuk hyung isn’t my type.”

Taehyung takes a moment to process the information. Jungkook is ducking his head, like he’s ashamed of what he’d said, and he frowns. “Is he short? Is that why?” he asks, trying to let the other boy relieve some tension. “Does he have a really bad habit? Does he terrorize animals for entertainment?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “No, no,” he says. “Sanghyuk hyung is over 180 cm, which is taller than Taekwoon hyung, too. He doesn’t like animals that much anyway, but he can’t be near them without scaring them off. As for bad habits… He stays out late a lot. That’s pretty scary.”

“He doesn’t sound horrible,” comments Taehyung. “A night owl isn’t too hard to deal with.”

“I’ve known him for a few years, even before he and Taekwoon hyung met.” There’s a wistfulness in Jungkook’s voice. “He used to be… wild, but he’s changed now.”

“No more wild?”

Jungkook laughs. “He can be, at times. But he’s gotten his priorities straight, his bearings under control.” He stretches his hand out in front of him, flexing his fingers. “Sanghyuk hyung has someone waiting for him at the end of the day.”

The ride continues. Jungkook isn’t asleep, but he’s gone quiet again. Seokjin constantly checks on him by peeking at the rearview mirror, sighing each time. Taehyung watches the window as they go past building after building. After passing by the train station Taehyung had used to take to his apartment (since nowadays he exclusively rides taxis) he has an epiphany.

“I never got my change back, did I?” Jungkook and Seokjin glance in his direction. “That first time I met you, Jungkook, when I was running late for the train. I gave you a whole bunch of cash for my coffee.”

“No, I don’t think you did,” says Jungkook, his answer slow and deliberate. “Do you still want it?”

Seokjin pulls in front of Taehyung’s apartment building. A bit of snow has piled up around the steps and rails near his door.

“Someday,” he promises, stepping out of the car. He leans close to the window and waves. “Have a good night!” The car drives away, lights fading into the abyss.

Inside Taehyung’s apartment, the light in the kitchen has finally stopped flickering. He hadn’t replaced it, at first, but the day when it had abruptly gone back to normal it agitated him enough to go out and buy a new one. The cactus by his bed has two fuchsia flowers now, and he tries to give it a drop of water when it looks parched. He pours a small amount into the pot and taps one of the needles.

He changes into his pajamas, readies himself for sleep, but stands hesitantly at the foot of his bed. The pillow and covers are intimidating, daunting — things are better when the bed isn’t empty.

Taehyung has nightmares. Almost every night, one appears inside his unconscious mind and stays with him until morning (or, God forbid, when he’s able to escape from it before dawn). When he had shared a bed with Jimin, and Jungkook, the visions weren’t so bad, barely even memorable. But as the days go by, he always gets the dreadful realization that he is very much alone.

The dreams that are the easiest to handle involve Park Bom.

Sometimes Taehyung is an audience member at one of her R&B concerts, hearing songs with such grace and depth they could very well have been composed by Apollo. She sings like an angel, and he wonders if his mind is making that up. Other times he’s watching her from across a crowded room, her electric blue hair draping over her shoulders like a spring waterfall, a glass of dark violet liquid between her lithe fingers. Yet his favorite kind is when it’s the two of them are sitting in a field of lavender, talking — about music, about relationships, about life.

All scenarios end the same way: Taehyung is grabbed, bitten, and eaten. The worst nightmares with Bom go straight into that, no prelude for the torture she inflicts upon Taehyung. Bone-cracking, dismemberment, blood trickling from wounds down to the veins. Her eyes shine like Yoongi’s, like a deranged ghoul ready to feast, like a— no, not a monster. The devil— a fallen angel.

The dreams that have Taehyung waking up sweating, screaming, or crying out are about his family. He’s had these kinds of nightmares since he was in high school, but after the accident they’ve gotten progressively more unbearable.

A recurring scenario. His mother is dying before his eyes: her heartbeat sloping flat on the machine; a car impacting her from an inebriated driver; a ghoul ambushing her as she walks home from the market. No matter what he does Taehyung can’t save her. She dies in his arms, whispering his name, telling him, “it’s not your fault,” but he always knows it is.

Then there’s his father, who Taehyung has only seen once: when he walked out the door and out of their family’s lives for good. He dreams that he’s a murderer, cynical and ruthless, choking Taehyung for letting his mother die. He’s a shadow, faceless, and his voice is an echo of an echo that never ends. Taehyung doesn’t have the spine to fight back, so he takes every insult and curse thrown at him like sharpened stones — and awakes to cold streaks down his face in the morning.

Taehyung stands at the foot of bed, inhales a steeling breath, and climbs in.

The dream begins at Cypher. Taehyung is in his uniform, but there aren’t any customers present. Seokjin and Jungkook are behind the counter, brewing coffee and speaking lowly. He has some doubts about joining them, seeing how private the conversation looks, but then Jungkook calls him over to grind beans. As Taehyung walks towards him the bell at the door chimes and someone steps inside.

Park Bom, with a faux fur coat and fitted leather pants, settles on a stool at the counter and orders an americano. Seokjin leaves right away to fetch it. She turns to greet Taehyung.

“Hello.” She smiles. “When did you start working here? I’ve never seen you around.”

“A while.”

Bom hums, drumming her filed fingernails on the counter. “It must be nice,” she says, “to have these guys supporting you.” Seokjin comes back and places the drink in front of Bom. She takes a sip, sighing, and pats the stool next to her. “Let’s talk.”

So they talk. Nothing new, something old, and by the end of it Taehyung is still breathing. Bom walks out of Cypher, not having laid a single finger on him the whole time she was there. He sees Seokjin and Jungkook, and laughs. Things feel right, he says. Things feel right.

That night Taehyung sleeps, for once, in peace.

—

“And _scene_! That’s all for today. Good job, everyone! Make sure to get here by one tomorrow for costume fittings! Performance is less than two months away! Stay focused!”

Drained, Jimin stumbles off the stage as the musical practice comes to a close. The stage crew and his cast members gather on the auditorium chairs, chugging down water and/or flipping through the script for possibly the millionth time. Only a select few leave when they’re supposed to, while the rest stay in the auditorium and continue practice on their own or in small groups. Jimin joins the upperclassmen, who have adopted him the moment he auditioned, to run through lines.

“Hyung,” he says, tugging on Kibum’s shirt. “How does the melody here go again? I don’t sound like I’m harmonizing correctly when I come in.”

Kim Kibum is the lead actor in the musical. He’s tall, confident, intelligent, and has a unique voice unlike any other. Out of the whole cast he’s the one who had his lines memorized the fastest — and, soon after, everyone else’s. Jimin had had an insignificant crush on him, at the start of the musical, but upon realizing Kibum has been taken for more than seven years by a Literature major, Kim Jonghyun, it faded pretty quickly. Plus, Jimin is not equipped to handle the sass that Kibum gives on every possible occasion.

“Oh, that’s _easy_ ,” says Kibum, taking a brief glance at the page. “But I have plans to get to now, so you’re better off asking Jaehwan.” He pulls on his coat and scarf. “The second in command has the same notes as you, if that helps.”

“Okay, thanks!”

Lee Jaehwan is as qualified as Kibum for the lead, but he’d auditioned for a less popular (but no less important) role that is often overshadowed by the protagonist. He’s similar to Kibum, in height and personality, except he exchanges half of the sass for a ton of bad jokes. (“His ego, too, is almost as big as his nose,” Shin Dongwoo, another cast member, had said one afternoon as Jaehwan boasted about the wingspan of his arms.) There are only good things Jimin can say about him, personally, like how beautiful his voice sounds and how often he gets someone who’s down to laugh.

Jimin finds the upperclassman sitting in the front row of seats, whistling to himself while he scrolls through his phone. When Jimin approaches he grins.

“Hey, Jimin,” says Jaehwan. “Looking for me, are you?”

“Indeed I am. There’s this part, in the third scene…”

They talk for a few minutes. Jaehwan demonstrates the key and the order of notes Jimin is having trouble with. He classifies the notes in the “do-re-mi” fashion, writing them down on the sheet of music, since he knows that Jimin understands it better when it’s not as technical.

“Got that down?” Jaehwan asks. He looks down at Jimin since he’s that much taller, yet his eyes are gentle and firm.

“Yeah, I’m good,” proclaims Jimin. “I’ll have to ingrain it into my memory for a few hours, but I’m sure I can do it.” He squeezes Jaehwan in a hug. “Thanks a bunch, hyung!”

Jaehwan chuckles, patting Jimin’s head.“Anything for my little soldier!” He pulls on his windbreaker and earmuffs, and checks his phone. He frowns. “Hey, if you plan on staying here make sure to watch the clock. Weather says it’ll be storming around four.”

Jimin flips through his script and remarks cheerily, “I can handle myself.”

Jaehwan raises an eyebrow. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he declares. He ruffles Jimin’s hair as he walks past. “I’m not joking. Be safe out there, Jimin!”

No one stays longer than Jimin. Even the stage crew leaves before he does. Chansik tells him to shut off the lights when he leaves, which is a normal occurrence for him anyway. He doesn’t have a big role in the musical, but all the gears must work on their own before being put in a machine to function correctly. The little things can lead to the big imprints in life. Jimin knows that one day, in the far-off future, playing Soldier B for only three scenes will be more than worth it.

Around half-past four Jimin puts on his layers and gets ready to brave the cold. There aren’t many windows in the auditorium, so he can’t tell if it’s snowing outside. He’d come prepared anyway, with three layers (duffle coat, sweater, long-sleeve shirt) and a trapper hat. He slings on his backpack, switches off the lights, and heads out the double doors.

“ _FUCK_ ,” shouts Jimin, as a wave of snowflakes pierces his eyes. Not only is it freezing, the storm has the snow whipping faster than a twister. He can barely see a foot in front of his face from how white the air is, but he knows that Cypher is still far from where he is now.

As the beginning of February approaches, Jimin’s wallet wearing thin, he had made an executive decision to walk to Cypher from the university instead of taking a taxi. He goes so often that it’s bound to save him some money. The only problem the plan is that in this storm, this terrible weather, Jimin is forced to brave the elements. But his endurance can only last so long (about three minutes, give or take a few seconds) so he embarks on a quest to find a vehicle to save him from his misery.

Local traffic must hate him today. No cars come anywhere near him, so he’s forced to stop under a closed down store with colorful graffiti on its walls. Nothing else is open, and this spot blocks the snow pretty well. He doesn’t want to call Taehyung since his best friend is attending remedial tutoring sessions and going to work straight afterwards. Calling Seokjin might be a good idea, since he actually _drives_ a car.

Jimin attempts to pull out his phone from his backpack, but it slips out of his fingers and collides onto the icy ground. He flinches as it happens — the screen is cracked from top to bottom, spiderwebs from both ends. Carefully, he picks it up and checks the damage, groaning when the light won’t even come on. He shoves his phone into his bag and hangs his head.

“ _Fuck_ my _life_.”

He’s debating on making a sprint for the nearest insulated vicinity or waiting for a bus or taxi to pass by when he sees a tall, slouched figure walking past him. They look like they’re in a hurry, so he doesn’t call out to them, but they also look _warm_. Jimin traces the path from where they had come from, leading to the back of the building, where there’s stairwell going to a black door.

“If I’m gonna die young,” Jimin murmurs, shuffling down the steps, “it better not be in a way as uncool as frostbite.”

He bangs his fist on the door and shouts, “Excuse me! Anybody in there?” There isn’t an answer. Jimin frowns. He reaches for the doorknob and finds it unlocked. Slowly pushing open the door, he can’t help but giggle, “Pardon me for intruding.”

There isn’t any light, so Jimin feels his way around for a power box. He bumps into things on the way and hopes that he hasn’t broken anything (again). The switches are at the other side of the room, and Jimin cheers when he turns them all on.

Jimin removes his hat and gloves, looking around. “Yikes.”

It’s messy. Papers and scraps are littered all over the basement. Puddles of murky water stain the ground. A dusty assortment of blankets are on the couch, getting even dustier. Oddly, there are over a dozen mannequins standing on the checkered tiles, posing nude or in different ensembles of clothes. Jimin knocked down two of them — he quickly moves to set them upright.

One isn’t clothed, but the other is styled elegantly. A ruffled shirt, eggshell white, tucked neatly into a fitting pencil skirt. There’s jewelry accessorizing the mannequin, too. A necklace of sapphire gems coiling around the throat; a bracelet that has rubies embedded into the silver.

Jimin touches the bracelet with his thumb, smiling when the light shines on it just right. “Beautiful,” he whispers.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t report your trespassing ass,” comes a scratchy voice, not too far from Jimin. It’s muffled, so Jimin guesses there’s a body under the mound of blankets on the couch.

“I didn’t expect anybody to be down here,” Jimin admits sheepishly, masking his surprise. “That’s my problem, though, so you can totally call the cops on me.” He shivers. “Can you wait ‘til after the storm?”

“What storm?”

Jimin gapes. “ _Dude_. The one that’s raging like a hoard of lions right now! Don’t tell me you couldn’t hear it!”

The owner of the voice emerges from under the blankets, rubbing at closed eyes. His hair is dark chocolate, and his skin tone looks like he hasn’t seen the sun since fall. “I was _sleeping_ ,” he growls, lips fixed as a scowl, “and I happened to wake up when someone broke into my house.”

Pouting, Jimin mutters, “Okay, no need to hold a grudge about that.” He sticks out a hand and grins politely. “I’m Jimin. I was walking from the university and got trapped in this snowstorm.”

The man stares at the hand and scowls. He pushes it away with his socked foot. “And what do you want me to do about _that_?” He glares at Jimin, with solid brown irises that match the roots of his hair.

“Oh… well.” Jimin stops to think, and quickly gets an idea. He claps his hands together and bows at the waist. “Sir, please let me stay until the storm passes!” He brings up his head. “And then right after I’ll leave — I promise.”

The man blinks slowly. He sits perfectly still, which is only a tad bit creepy. The silence stretches so long. Jimin is debating if he should prepare his plea for the police when they show up to arrest him, but the man finally gets up and slips on a pair of fluffy slippers, shuffling to the desk across the room and slouching onto the chair.

He points to the couch and orders gruffly, “Sit on that. And don’t touch anything.” He grabs a pen and tucks it behind his ear. “Don’t call me ‘sir’ either.”

Jimin flounces onto the sofa, dropping his backpack, graciously removing his shoes as he tucks his feet under his butt. “Then what do I call you?” he asks while he sheds off some layers.

“Suga,” answers the man. He turns to his work on the desk and shakes his head. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

Rolling his eyes, Jimin places his garments around him. He sits cross legged, grinning, feeling like a puffy cardinal in its nest. From his bag he pulls out his favorite writing utensil: a mechanical pencil with an orange gel grip. He gathers some schoolwork, places it on his lap, and begins to work.

Two seconds later, his attention is drawn to a patched up voodoo doll wedged in the blankets. There is a pair of blue shorts on the body, and a red heart stitched where it should be. Besides that, the doll is essentially colorless. The button eyes are shining, with a dash of red, but there isn’t a mouth. Good thing, because stitched mouths on anything remind Jimin of horror movies.

Jimin picks it up and has it sit atop his notebooks. “Hello,” he greets. “Who are you?”

“What did I _just_ say,” deadpans Suga. “What did I _literally just say_?”

“Don’t touch the stuff, yeah, yeah…” Jimin blows hot air into his cheeks as he flails the doll’s arms around. “But it’s _so_ cute! What’s its name?”

Suga looks like he regrets not calling the cops earlier, but Jimin isn’t worried. He looks harmless enough. “Agust,” he says. “God, now _please_ —”

Jimin sets Agust aside, raising his hands up as a truce. “Okay, fine. No touching. Hands—” He brings his arms in, almost curling into the fetal position with papers hanging off his lap, “—to myself.”

For the most part, Jimin diligently works on his homework assignments. Literature analyses are done, as well as sociology annotations. A few times he checks his phone, out of habit, and whimpers at the pitiful sight. It drives him to work even harder, because he’s going to need stellar grades when he tells his parents that he broke his phone and needs a new one.

Instead of procrastinating, like many other college students Jimin gets distracted — which is, really, no better or that different. Thirty or forty minutes pass; there isn’t a clock around to read. He watches Suga’s back as he sketches something in blue ink. The other sketches he’s done with Jimin here are scattered around the desk, crumpled into stained snowballs and adding to the ones already on the floor. Jimin wonders what he’s doing, and why his figure looks so stressed while doing it.

Jimin had thought about minoring in art. During high school he’d carried around a pocket-sized sketchbook, doodling in it when no one was watching. He hadn’t been embarrassed, per se — if someone saw his pictures they’d say comments that, at the time, Jimin wasn’t sure he could handle. Taehyung has always said how great of an artist he is, but Jimin doesn’t love drawing the same way he loves singing. It’s a hobby he needs to catch up on, after the musical is over and he has more downtime.

As he tries to peek around to see what Suga is sketching, all Jimin can make out are templates of bodies, much like 2-D mannequins, and the smudges on Suga’s hands. Along with the blue, there are blotches of red. He must have been writing with a red pen earlier.

Jimin slaps himself on the wrist to get back on task. He pulls out his script and sings the songs under his breath.

The clatter of the pen on the desktop makes Jimin look up, where Suga is leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head. “The storm is over,” he announces brusquely. “Get out.”

“Really?” Jimin doesn’t see a window to check, but he’ll take Suga’s word for it. “I’ll pack up all my stuff right now.” He stands up, slips on his shoes, and puts away his notebooks — but he’s missing something. “Oh, damn, where’s my pencil? Don’t tell me I lost it.”

“Any day now.”

Jimin rummages through the cushions, worrying his lip, and searches for his pencil. “That was my favorite one to write with…” he murmurs. “One second. When I find it, I’ll—”

Something gets thrown at Jimin’s head and, thanks to his quick reflexes, he catches it before it can poke his eye out. Upon inspection, it’s a sharpened wooden pencil with a half used eraser.

Suga points to the door, leaning back on his chair. “Stop whining and _leave_.”

Jimin smiles as he pulls on his coat, hat, and gloves. “Thanks, Suga. I would’ve been a popsicle if it wasn’t for you.” He waves around the pencil before tucking it into his backpack, slipping it over his shoulders. “Thanks for the new pencil, too! I’ll repay you!”

The door has _a lot_ of locks, Jimin notes. He takes a moment to stare at them, counts them in his head, while his hand lingers on the doorknob. When he finally makes up his mind to actually leave, Suga stops him.

“Don’t—” Suga has returned to the couch, and he’s holding Agust to his chest, “—tell people about me.” He rolls onto his side and shuts his eyes. “I don’t like unnecessary attention, kid.”

Jimin laughs. “My lips are sealed,” he promises. “Goodbye! And, seriously, thank you!”

Outside, the weather is sunny — but the sun is setting quickly. It’s still undoubtedly cold, but Jimin can bury his face in his collar and make do. He can see in front of his face now, which definitely helps, so his journey to Cypher is smooth sailing. He hadn’t realized how empty this area of town is. There are no open restaurants, no apartment buildings, only dying trees and murders of crows.

“Creepy,” mumbles Jimin, hurrying past.

Cypher isn’t exceptionally far from Suga’s place, so Jimin makes it there before the sun can set. From outside he can only see two regulars inside, Hyojung and Mihyun, chatting over cups of tea. (They are close in age to Jimin and Taehyung, sharing a class or so together, and Jimin had employed his charm and befriended them after seeing them so much at the cafe.)

He opens the door and says, “Hey, everyone, sorry I’m—”

“Jiminnie! You’re here!” Taehyung exclaims, bounding towards his best friend and engulfing him in a hug. “When you didn’t come here at the usual time, I was so _worried_. I knew you had musical practice, so I texted you and asked if you were coming late, but you didn’t reply! And there was the giant storm, and— and—”

“Look, Tae, I’m fine,” assures Jimin. He holds Taehyung at an arm’s length and sees the wobbling lip and crooked tie. He straightens it instinctively. “No need to get your eye patch in a bunch.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows pinch together in worry. “Are you positive? My texts…”

Jimin swings his backpack around and procures his beat up cell phone. “Ta-dah,” he sighs, and Taehyung covers his mouth with his hand, shocked. “Courtesy of my very own butterfingers and a very, very solid ground.”

“That’s brutal.”

“Yeah.” Jimin sighs again. Hyojung and Mihyun show him a look of pity, and he musters a smile. He puts his pathetic phone away and throws an arm around Taehyung’s shoulders. “So, waiter,” he sings, “are you gonna take my order?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. He takes Jimin to his usual table and doesn’t bother giving him a menu. “Cafe latte,” he says. “Coming right up.”

Jimin folds his arms over the table and sets his chin on them, watching as Taehyung goes behind the counter to make his drink. Jungkook is there and briefly meets eyes with Jimin, and the usual occurs: Jimin blows a kiss to Jungkook, Jungkook curses at him, and (more recently) Taehyung’s ears turn bright red. Taehyung teasingly bumps Jungkook’s side to get him to stop, and Jungkook glances at him, purses his lips together, and ducks his head.

“They’ve got it so bad,” murmurs Jimin, smiling fondly.

There’s a new type of flower in the cafe: lilacs. A vibrant purple plant, the flower petals small on the long stem. The pots are placed right at the counter, and the buds aren’t the only things blooming as January comes to a close.


	12. coldhearted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wub wub wub wub wub it's time for a minor character spotlight.. huehue... gotta love me some minor characters (ㆆᴗㆆ) this chapter is kinda short compared to the last one, but i'm steadily organizing the chapters and what's going on w/ the storyline!!!
> 
> (in other news, i've gotten into up10tion and cant stop thinking abt them. ["dito" is my fav song from them.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQGO39brTTw) also i dont have a bias bc im already dead inside. refer to [this](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/post/140506449697/yooneroos-poor-sunny) as a reason why. thanks)

The six of them live in a boarding house — technically it _was_ , before Hakyeon repurposed it a few years ago as a “Ghoul Friendly Living Space.” No one else refers to it as such, much to his disappointment, because a) it sounds ridiculous and b) it is, in all accounts, ridiculous. After months of Hakyeon’s complaining, Jaehwan had painted a colorful “GFLS” sign to hang at the front door and appease the elder. Hakyeon still whines about the issue, but at least he does it less now.

There isn’t much to the house: two floors, six bedrooms, and two bathrooms. For the most part it doesn’t feel that crowded. There’s usually one or two of them missing at a time, out of the house for work, school, or some other activity. Today, though, is an unusual occurrence. All six of them are in the house, and what makes it even more unlikely is that it’s also passing dusk.

Taekwoon and Sanghyuk are watching an action movie on the television, Korean subtitles translating the foreign English, as Wonshik is knocked out on the couch behind them. He’s been snoring for hours, but smothering him with a pillow is “not a friendly thing to do” according to Jaehwan, who is folding laundry on the other couch. (“Don’t go Othello on him,” were the words that had followed.) Hongbin has locked himself in his room until further notice, and Hakyeon is treating himself to a bubble bath on the second floor.

“Do you know what movie this is?” asks Jaehwan, frowning, while he rolls up a pair of socks. “It doesn’t even look like you guys are watching. You’re too busy holding hands and being lovey-dovey.”

“We _are_ watching,” Sanghyuk insists, and Taekwoon nods from where he’s nuzzling Sanghyuk’s neck. “It’s a Marvel movie.”

“What’s the title?” Jaehwan challenges.

Sanghyuk twists his lips. “ _Iron Man_ …?”

“Wow, I love the confidence,” says Jaehwan, sarcastic. He folds a pair of sweatpants, presumably Hongbin’s, and sets it aside. “It’s the second _Iron Man_ , by the way. Robert Downy Jr. is one hell of a genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist.”

“You’re a movie junkie, hyung. That’s not fair,” whines Sanghyuk. There’s the beginnings of a pout on his lips.

Jaehwan clucks his tongue. “Life isn’t fair, you big baby. Get over it,” he declares hotly. Sanghyuk’s shoulders slump, indicating his _feelings_ have been wounded, and Jaehwan immediately regrets opening his mouth.

Taekwoon is up in a flash, irises glowing red, his hands moving to grasp Jaehwan’s forearms as his victim shrieks helplessly, “No breaking my arms! Please! I have to lift a guy over seventy-five kilos tomorrow at practice!”

“Fine.”

Without batting an eyelash, Taekwoon takes a hold of Jaehwan’s left hand, grabs his index finger, and brings it back until he can hear the bone crack. Jaehwan screams bloody murder as the joints are dislodged from one another, struggling and failing to escape Taekwoon’s iron-like vice. Taekwoon keeps the finger stretched to the back of his hand, and when he’s satisfied he lets go and returns to his spot next to Sanghyuk, whose mood looks a touch brighter. Jaehwan sits back in his seat and squeezes his eyes shut, cradling his broken finger, which is rapidly turning the skin purple.

“You’re such an asshole,” seethes Jaehwan. “Damn it, hyung — this fucking _hurts_.” He groans, “How could you? I did your _laundry_ ,” and simultaneously starts to sob into Taekwoon’s neat pile of shirts.

“It’ll heal in an hour,” Taekwoon says, a hint of amusement laced in his taunt. He sets his head on Sanghyuk’s shoulder and murmurs, “Get over it.” Sanghyuk snickers.

Wonshik turns over in his sleep, moaning loudly, his flaming hair getting caught in between the couch cushions. The eyeliner that usually marks his eyes is gone, a rare sight to see him without. “Be quiet,” he grumbles, “ _please_ , I’m tryin’ to catch some z’s.”

“And I’m trying to watch a movie,” pipes Sanghyuk.

“ _Hyung_ ,” moans Wonshik, as Taekwoon prods absently (and annoyingly) on his thigh. “Stop, I’m too tired for this.”

Jaehwan inhales dramatically and whimpers, “I think my finger is turning _blue_!”

A raucous stomping comes down the stairs, the source being one Cha Hakyeon rubbing his damp hair with a strawberry-tinted towel. His skin is wonderfully glowing, bronze skin and rosy lips, suggesting he’d just come out of the water. “What’s with all the hollering down here, hm? I can’t even enjoy my bath without the floorboards shaking. What’s the matter?”

“Hakyeon hyung!” Jaehwan beams, and he holds out his limp finger for Hakyeon to inspect.

Sanghyuk coughs, “Kiss-ass.” Jaehwan, eyes reddened and tearful, gnarls his teeth.

“Taekwoon, did you break Jaehwan’s finger?” Hakyeon asks pointedly.

“Maybe.”

“He _did_!”

Hakyeon wrinkles his nose. He walks over to smack Sanghyuk’s head, and Taekwoon doesn’t give a second glance as Sanghyuk yelps. Putting his hand on his hip he nags, “Why didn’t you stop him, Spiderman? This was your fault, I’m sure.”

“Movie,” is Sanghyuk’s petulant response as he rubs his head, glowering. Hakyeon hums, gently smooths down where he’d just hit, and Sanghyuk has to ask: “Is Hongbin hyung still in his room?”

“Where else would he be?” sighs Hakyeon. The question makes him tired, mentally, and Sanghyuk almost feels sorry for bringing it up. “I’ve already brought him some food, but he’s still moping. He’s eating regularly, so that’s a relief. He’s trying, more than before.” He moves to sit on the couch, but Wonshik takes up too much room. “Scoot,” he commands, and the redhead curls in his legs so Hakyeon can have a seat.

“Choa noona has been dead for over two months now. You’d think he’d be over it,” Sanghyuk mumbles. He gazes out the window and sees the blackening sky, not a star in sight. And he says, no louder than a whisper, “That’s more than enough time to mourn.”

“He really loved her,” Taekwoon declares, voice as clear as a crystal gem. Then he sits up, holds Sanghyuk’s face in both hands, and speaks to him like he’s the king of his country, his world, his galaxy. “Sanghyuk, he loved her so much that everything shattered to pieces when she passed. She was his reason to exist, his meaning to life. He loved her so much and lost himself because of it. He loved her, Sanghyuk, can’t you see?”

“That’s—” Sanghyuk places his hand over Taekwoon’s, not pushing or pulling, and fights the urge to break eye contact. “We’re not worth the trouble.”

“Don’t say that,” choruses the whole room. The sleepy Wonshik brings his head up; Hakyeon grips the ends of his towel around his neck. Jaehwan, as his injury’s pain slowly recedes, shakes his head resolutely. Taekwoon places a kiss on his forehead, feather-light. He smiles, only for Sanghyuk.

“Okay,” Sanghyuk says, as Taekwoon cards his fingers through his bangs. “Okay.”

A few scenes pass in the movie, roughly fifteen minutes later, and when Jaehwan’s finger can bend properly he proclaims, “This is all the CCG’s fault.”

“Isn’t it always?” slurs Wonshik, who has moved to rest his head upon Hakyeon’s thighs, which make for very nice pillows. He’s watching the movie now, having given up on sleep, while Hakyeon mindlessly braids his short hair.

“I’m being _serious_ ,” insists Jaehwan. “Yoongi compiled information on some of the investigators who specialize in killing ghouls — it’s in this green folder, surprisingly organized. There are even color-coded tabs.”

“So we’re targets,” Wonshik says. “That’s nothin’ new.”

Hakyeon inquires, “Do you know who killed Choa?” He swallows, and he separates one of the braids in Wonshik’s hair. “Did it say anything about Minhyuk?”

Jaehwan, after a moment, shakes his head. “I’m no detective. I didn’t see any of their mask names when I was reading or any descriptions—” Hakyeon rubs his face, a haggard motion, “—but I can’t be too sure. Yoongi could’ve missed something.”

“Where’s that folder?” asks Hakyeon.

“Seokjin hyung asked for it, so I gave it to him. It’s not mine, anyway.” Jaehwan flexes his fingers, curling and uncurling them. “All that was in it was where investigators are expected to frequent during missions, and the suspected time frames. Some personal information on them, too.”

Hakyeon hums. “What’s an investigator hotspot we should know about?”

“Night clubs. Shopping strips,” Jaehwan responds, listing what comes off the top of his head.

“Oh, dear,” Hakyeon leers, feigning worry as he covers his mouth. “Does that mean I can’t update my wardrobe anymore? I can’t keep up with the new fashion trends?”

Wonshik snorts, “Should I stop goin’ to work? Quit my job or call in sick indefinitely?”

“College was on the list, too,” Jaehwan says, going along with their fun. “I should stop getting an education. You know, for the sake of ghoul-kind.”

“Go for it, hyung. Join the unemployed and uneducated club,” urges Sanghyuk, smile incredibly smug. “Members: Han Sanghyuk, Jung Taekwoon, Lee Hongbin, Cha—”

“I finished high school!” Hakyeon interjects.

Sanghyuk taunts, “Where’s your diploma? Hey, was paper even invented yet? Ah! Is it on a stone or a tree?”

The comment ticks Hakyeon off _a lot_ , so he kicks Sanghyuk’s face with _a lot_ more force than necessary, sending him skidding across the room. Sanghyuk is blown back, nearly knocking over a bookcase, groaning as he hits the wall. From where he sat before getting assaulted, Taekwoon is still there, crouched on the floor, steadying his own heart rate as he sees blood begin to seep out of Sanghyuk’s nose. Hakyeon is entirely nonchalant about the situation, puffing his chest with pride, and pats Wonshik’s head.

“I can’t see the TV,” complains Jaehwan, shooing Sanghyuk away from the screen.

Sanghyuk’s irises go from hazel to maroon, the whites of his eyes fading to black, the veins by his temples visibly pulsing. The tension in his blood isn’t enough to summon his RC cells, so he’s only half transformed, aching for a brawl. He says nothing, though, because he’s the youngest and fighting back would cause unnecessary stress in their home, strain that wouldn’t go unnoticed. Fighting with Hakyeon, too, is a battle already lost. Standing up, he goes to find some tissues to mop the blood from his bleeding and apparently broken nose.

“You deserved that,” Taekwoon sighs faintly, and Sanghyuk glares at him while he stalks off.

Jaehwan whistles, “Someone is going to be in the doghouse tonight. Good job, hyung.”

It’s Taekwoon’s turn to glare at Jaehwan, who cowers and screeches in a high-pitched voice. He stands up and thrusts out his hand to Jaehwan, teeth gritted. “Give me the rest of your fingers, dog.”

Aside from all the casualties, the night is an efficient one. Jaehwan finishes everyone’s laundry, and Wonshik gets to take a power nap, at the ending credits, before he goes to work in the city. _Iron Man 2_ gets finished by Taekwoon and Sanghyuk, who both like the whole franchise and have rented _The Avengers_ for tomorrow night. Hakyeon finishes up his bath, and later gives himself an extra hour of time for moisturization. Hongbin even comes out of his room to see Wonshik off, hands trembling, and everyone can see how hard it is for him to smile.

Tonight, there are only four broken fingers and one broken nose. There are no hard feelings in the end, because these ghouls are living for the sake of living as peaceful as they can get — and the petty arguments are just bumps along the way. The six of them have gone through too much on their own to find an end now. And together, the fact that they try to survive as ghouls is enough shared hardship to understand.

They’re not a family, but they’re something trying to be — broken, battered, and believing that, one day, it will get better.

—

“Do ghouls really hang around here?” Jinyoung says, rubbing his hands together and blowing hot air into them. The fluorescent lights of the stores shine brightly in the evening, some advertisers standing outside to give out flyers. The food stalls release the seductive scents of spices and warm steam, causing passersby to stop for a snack before returning home from work. “It seems a bit… _too_ lively.”

Mark shrugs. “You read the paperwork.” His hair is fading, the natural black touching the roots as the auburn colors the ends. He hadn’t styled it today, so it’s flat against his forehead, obscuring his vision.

“And _you_ neglected to,” counters Jinyoung. He continues walking, pulling Mark to the less crowded side of the street. “I’m only wondering out loud. The ghoul we’re looking for _did_ , but we don’t know if ghouls still _do_.”

Mark shrugs again. “Hangul is hard to read,” he says, rubbing his nose and sniffling. “Also, I didn’t want to.” He grins widely when Jinyoung rolls his eyes. There’s an upcoming stall that he recognizes and he jogs over to it, motioning for his partner to follow. “Come on, slowpoke. I want fish pastries.”

“We’re on duty,” Jinyoung says, although his steps bring him closer to the stall anyway.

“Hey, investigators need breaks, too.” Mark pulls out his wallet and hands a few bills to the stall owner. “Fish pastries are essential to relaxing,” he says, biting his lip as he watches the owner pour the batter.

“ _Sure_ they are.”

“I don’t appreciate the sass, Park Jinyoung,” huffs Mark. As they wait for the pastries to be made he asks, “Who are we trying to find again?”

“Azalea,” answers Jinyoung.

“Azalea? As in the flower?”

“Yes, you heard me correctly,” Jinyoung says. “CCG has reported that ghouls aren’t presenting themselves that often to track inconspicuously anymore, so we’re following old reports and old ghouls that could still be relevant. This one goes by the alias ‘Azalea,’ because the victims claimed to see red azaleas on the ghoul’s mask while they were attacked.”

Mark twists his lips, but it’s not surprising to him. Ghouls hide their identities with a variety of masks, and that’s normally how their code names are established — that, or what their weaponized RC cells resemble. Masks are unique, as they’ve discovered, and can tie into power level or lineage. Bureau investigators (desk workers like Jaebum, Hyeyeon, etc.) are normally the ones who look for motives behind ghouls’ actions and behavior. Ghoul investigators, on the other hand, care little for the details and are mainly in the field, trying to prevent the inhumane crimes before they can happen.

“What’s the victim count?”

“Somewhere between thirty and forty,” answers Jinyoung, and he takes the bag of pastries from the woman in the stall, bowing gratefully as he and Mark continue on there way. “Azalea never directly killed anyone,” he goes on. “All the victims were young, healthy. Azalea only took limbs, one or two per human, and left victims to bleed.” He shudders. “Jaebum hyung’s report was pretty detailed.”

“That’s fucked up,” Mark remarks. “The case, not Jaebum. He does a good job on his own.” He takes a fish pastry from the bag, fumbling when he realizes it’s too hot to hold. Jinyoung gives him a napkin before he can burn his fingers.

“Azalea hasn’t been active for years, but they’re still out there somewhere,” says Jinyoung. He swats Mark when he sees him chewing with his mouth wide open. “Be glad we’re staying low for a while. All we have to do is scout some areas and see if anybody matches the description: over 180cm, slim, tan skin, with RC cells that form into... branches. I’m very sure they’re branches.”

They’ve reached a park with some decent foot traffic, dog walkers and joggers passing the investigators, unaware of their occupation. (Investigators of the CCG are, generally, hailed as heroes by the public but are not openly commemorated. Too much publicity would give ghouls the upper hand, in this indefinite game of chess.) There are signs of spring swinging back into motion, snow puddling on the pathways and grass getting greener. It’s reaching the middle of February, and things are slowly coming back to life. They settle on a wooden bench, facing the city, street lamps and windows acting as stars, Mark’s hand resting atop Jinyoung’s in the empty space between them.

“We don’t even have to come up with anything, you know,” says Jinyoung as he bites the tail off his pastry. “We’ll report our findings every day, and after a month or so we’ll get another case to complete from Jaebum hyung. Azalea is, really, only another ghoul in the pot.”

“It’s so _boring_ ,” Mark sighs heavily, tossing his head back. “The problem with our cases is that they’re so _boring_.”

“That’s not true,” retorts Jinyoung.

Mark laughs, bitter yet lacking true malice. “We get all the low-rate cases, with _C_ classes and decade old files, Jinyoung. Not like— like Namjoon and Hoseok, who get all the fun stuff. Did you hear they’re searching for the Neon Binge Eater? She went missing a few months ago, not a few _years_. Man, what I’d give to take on that.”

Jinyoung disagrees with him completely. “No, hyung, I like this,” he affirms. “Cases like these give me a chance to sit down next to you, hold your hand, and eat fish pastries together at the end of the day.” The clouds in the air swirl against the moon. A subtle snowfall descends upon them, specks of white melting once they touch the ground. “It’s nice.”

He’s talking like that again, Mark thinks. The words get slow, careful, like Jinyoung is waiting to be rejected, head ducked. He’s scared, and it shows in the wrinkles by his eyes, the tense line of his jaw, the chill on his fingers.

There are times when he tells Mark that he regrets becoming an investigator, working for the CCG, and it’s in moments like this that it happens. Moments where, if Mark doesn’t stop him, Jinyoung breaks down. Jinyoung worries for the future, worries for the present, and if Mark hadn’t been there to pull him out of it he’d surely be dwelling on the past. Being a ghoul investigator is awful, devastating, and dangerous, yet it’s also a job that, without a doubt, saves hundreds of lives every day. But there are the painful reminders that come to him in spurts that he, too, is risking his own. That’s why Mark, quiet and understanding, has given him his heart and his home, years ago, when the only things they had to worry about were nagging professors and portfolio deadlines.

Mark cups Jinyoung’s jaw and turns his face, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. The action is familiar to them, and Mark hopes that the message comes across clearly enough.

Startled, Jinyoung chuckles in disbelief. “What was that for?” he asks, smiling softly.

“Nothing,” Mark says, and he places another kiss on Jinyoung’s cheek. And another on his nose. And another to Jinyoung’s lips, no shorter than the last. “Everything.”

A red blush rushes to Jinyoung’s cheeks, and he says unwaveringly, “I love you, too.” He feeds the remaining bits of his fish pastry to Mark, who is utterly satisfied, and they resume their walking.


	13. polygon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on another note, in chapter titles that don't make sense.............. let's look at the ccg what am i doing
> 
> these next few chapters may be shorter??? or longer??????? what's happening

Jinyoung balances a pencil between his nose and upper lip, leaning back on his chair. Mark is across from him, upper body laid flat on the desk, groaning, “I’m _tired_.”

“Take a nap,” says Kunpimook, from the printer, boyish grin wide. He’s an intern, the same age as Yugyeom, but he and the other boy are never in the office at the same time. Their schedules don’t overlap, but the two have a strong friendship that goes way back to when they’d met at the CCG intern orientation. Compared to Yugyeom he’s more wild and free-spirited, hailing from Thailand, but he dyes his hair less often yet studies just as much. Their personalities are similar in nature, with the only difference being Kunpimook’s self-confidence being off the charts and highly unreasonable. (Kunpimook, as noted by several individuals around the office, dresses more fashionably, too.)

“Do not take a nap,” barks Jaebum, eyes shooting daggers at Mark. He looks like he hasn’t slept in four days — and, being the diligent Im Jaebum, it’s probably five. “I will download the blowhorn app right now if you do. Don’t you dare tempt me, Thai Prince.”

Kunpimook holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, so _don’t_ take a nap. Jesus.” He smacks his lips together and pulls out his phone, leaning against the printer as it spews out papers.

Hoseok, suspender straps hanging off his shoulders, swivels his chair over to Mark’s desk, his fingers overflowing with various neon highlighters. “I can draw on your face! I can draw trees, clouds— And I think my flowers are looking better.”

“They look like dicks,” says Jackson as he walks around, skimming through files and maneuvering around desk corners.

“ _Jackson hyung_ ,” Youngjae hisses. He’d been in the middle of typing up the mission completion statement for Jackson, who is his partner, since he’d finished a case yesterday, but the profanity makes him stop in his tracks. “You can’t just— just _say_ things like that!”

“Hey, he has to hear it like it is.” Jackson turns to the red-stitched investigator and deadpans, “Hoseok, your flowers are very phallic-looking. Go check yourself before you wreck yourself and everyone around you. Thanks.”

Mark and Kunpimook snicker, while Jaebum and Jinyoung sigh loudly. Hoseok looks crestfallen, like the sunshine had been sucked out of him.

“Look, you made him _sad_. How could you,” Jinyoung scolds, and he scurries over to give Hoseok a comforting hug. “There, there, little one. The bitter Chinese man won’t hurt you anymore.” Hoseok mewls, and Jinyoung gives him a peck on the cheek before going back to his desk.

Jackson’s eyes widen at the accusation. “You have to break some hearts if you want to get somewhere in life,” he tells, straight-faced. “Dick delilahs aren’t the way to go. Trust me.”

“Thank you, oh wise one,” remarks Youngjae, cheeks burning. He leans over his desk, nudging the Platinum Duo investigators. “Mark hyung, Jinyoung hyung, how’s your case coming along? Find anything yet?”

“ _Son_ ,” Mark says, raising his head to show his haggard face.

“Father,” counters Youngjae, except he sounds too meek whilst saying it. “That’s a no, then?” Mark grunts in affirmation. “Sorry. Jackson hyung and I are dealing with mountains of paperwork, if that makes you feel any better. My fingers are getting all cramped from typing for so long.”

Mark waves a hand. “It doesn’t make me feel better, but I appreciate... whatever you’re trying to accomplish.” Youngjae gives a sheepish smile, turning back to his laptop and conferring with Jackson at the adjacent desk.

Kunpimook walks towards them, a bundle of documents in his arms, and tilts his head to the side. “Would a party make you feel better? This Saturday, at eight. College students and alumni welcome,” he beams.

“We didn’t graduate university, Bam. Not yours,” says Mark, sitting up. He looks over at Jinyoung, who has started to doodle hamburgers and pizza slices on sticky notes. “Parties aren’t really our thing, anyway.”

“Really? So how do you explain the New Year’s party?” asks Kunpimook, eyebrow raised.

Mark can feel a headache approaching, so he massages his temples as he speaks. “We were celebrating, like everyone else. For the most part, we kept to ourselves, though.” He reaches for the can of Coke at the edge of his desk and takes a swig, the fizz alleviating some of the pain. “We spent, like, three hours sitting in a bathtub and watching YouTube videos.”

Jinyoung loosens his tie and reminisces. “That party—” He laughs, and Mark smiles. “We met some interesting people there, as well. I’m not sure if I want to go to another one of Kunpimook’s recommendations.”

“To be honest, I only remember thirteen percent of that night,” confesses Kunpimook, smirking. “There were definitely boobs there. I remember the boobs.” He sighs wistfully. “Man, that was a good night.”

From his desk, Jackson hoots, “Get ‘em!” Youngjae grimaces and punches Jackson’s arm. Jaebum throws paper balls at them, crumpled for occasions like these, and they hurriedly get back to work.

“I comforted a puking college kid. He was really cute, when he didn’t look so shitfaced,” Jinyoung recalls. “He barely looked like he was drinking age... The poor guy couldn’t even hold his liquor properly! I felt like a mom.”

“You are practically my mom, hyung,” teases Kunpimook.

Jinyoung meets eyes briefly with Mark, smiling subtly, and then returns his gaze to the intern. “Son,” he sighs, falling into his maternal role, crossing his legs and cupping his clasped hands over his knee. “Kunpimook Bambam Bhuwikal, you need to get your act together. The real world isn’t all fun and games like you make it out to be.”

Kunpimook squints. “You can’t tell me how to live my life,” he declares stubbornly.

Widening his eyes, Jinyoung straightens and wags his pointer finger. “Young man, how dare you use that tone with me. I am your work mother, who gives you stickers and—”

“Those stickers were Hoseok hyung’s!”

“I put those stickers on you when you _deserved_ —”

A loud clatter alerts everyone to Hoseok, who stands to his full and unimpressive height, his chair overturned on the ground. “Namjoonie is back!” he announces excitedly, bounding to the door and engulfing the investigator in his arms.

Namjoon, semi-wet hands held out in front of him, nearly topples over as he struggles to steady Hoseok’s odd positioning at his waist. “I went to the bathroom,” he says, embarrassed. “Please, don’t commemorate my return.”

“I missed you,” giggles Hoseok, burying his face in Namjoon’s chest. Their coworkers coo at the scene, and a few of them even take snapshots. Namjoon grimaces.

The tips of Namjoon’s ears are burning red as he hurries to his desk to continue working. It doesn’t help that Hoseok is hanging onto him like a lost duckling, lips pursed while he watches Namjoon collect files from the drawers. Hoseok’s pout grows more annoyed as Namjoon refuses to acknowledge him properly.

“He’s so adorable,” hums Jinyoung. He reaches forward to pinch Hoseok’s cheek, babbling, “Namjoon doesn’t deserve you.”

At that comment, Namjoon’s head jerks up. He frowns, looking offended. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” No one wants to answer him, and Mark makes a point of shrugging cluelessly. Huffing, Namjoon taps the papers on the desk, telling Hoseok, “Come on, hyung, let’s get back to work.”

Hoseok jolts eagerly, nodding and following Namjoon’s order. Ever since the slip-up of Namjoon’s — accidentally calling Hoseok “hyung” — the honorific stuck, and it still makes Hoseok giddy when he hears it. Namjoon has attempted using the word with all of his elder coworkers, but the only name it fits best with is Hoseok’s. He supposes it’s because Hoseok is so comfortable and open with him that Namjoon wants to reciprocate. (Or, maybe, because Hoseok has a hissy fit when Namjoon neglects to say it.)

“Is it just me or is Namjoon more friendly nowadays?” inquires Jinyoung, staring inquisitively at the said man. “So very strange.”

Namjoon frowns. “Was I not friendly before?”

“Yes,” choruses half the room. Namjoon has no words.

Youngjae pipes, “Like, hyung, you never took your eyes away from the files.” He staples a set of papers together and adds, “And you never let anyone sleep on the job.”

“And no one _should_ ,” Jaebum warns firmly. Youngjae cowers behind his bedazzled stapler. (Hoseok had found it one day and decided, “More sparkles.”)

“The point is,” Jinyoung continues, “you’re more likable.”

Hoseok cheers, “I’ve always liked Namjoonie!” and engulfs Namjoon in a hug.

Namjoon pats Hoseok’s head. “Hyung,” he says, as he sees his partner’s doodles on the desk. He grimaces. “Uh, why did you draw a penis on our case file?”

—

“Why are you still here?”

Jaebum looks up from his computer, momentarily pausing his fidgeting fingers. His vision is blurry from staring at the monitor for so long, so he rubs his eyes a few times before responding. “I’m working,” he says flatly. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m picking up Mark hyung’s jacket,” responds Jinyoung. A faded jean jacket, probably a hand-me-down from an old relative, is in his arms. “He left it here earlier, and I don’t want him to get sick when we come in tomorrow morning.”

“Cute,” Jaebum chuckles quietly. He looks at the clock on the wall. _11:45 p.m_. Damn. His shift ends at nine, but the time must’ve gotten away from him. “Hurry home,” he prods. “Don’t leave him waiting. It’s late.”

Jinyoung doesn’t follow the direction and pulls out a chair next to his coworker. He takes one of Jaebum’s pens from the desk and clicks it as he talks. “Hyung,” he begins, and Jaebum turns to him, offering his attention. “What’s wrong? You’re not acting like yourself.”

Jaebum finds it funny how easily Jinyoung can see through him. They’ve known each other since they were kids, family friends and next door neighbors. Jinyoung, despite being younger, had always taken care of him when he really needed it, like when he was sick or hurting. When Mark came around, Jinyoung had another person to take care of and subsequently take care of him. Jaebum doesn’t mind it — what kind of best friend would be if he did? — and is grateful for Mark’s role in Jinyoung’s life. He and Mark are Jinyoung’s closest friends, most important people. And, nearing this Tuesday’s midnight, Jaebum appreciates the reminder. Sometimes he needs it.

“Stress,” breathes Jaebum. “A lot of it.”

Jinyoung bats at his elder’s shoulder, frowning. “More _specific_ , hyung. Tell me what’s on your chest.”

Sighing heavily, Jaebum presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “There’s... so much going on. Here.”

“At the CCG? The Bureau?”

“Sure. Let’s say that,” mutters Jaebum. “Let’s... Let’s drop it.”

“Hyung. You have to talk to me.”

Jaebum rises to his feet and begins to pace. He bites at his nails, a sure sign of his agitation, continuously glancing at the clock. “Okay, you know what?” he says, hushed. “It’s not me. I’m not worried about me. It’s not about _me_.” He squeezes his eyes shut, like it pains him to speak. “You, Mark, Jackson, Dahye, Yuji, Namjoon, Hoseok, Hyojin—”

“The ghoul investigators,” finishes Jinyoung, and it all makes sense. They’ve been doing so well the last few months, and that must be what’s getting to Jaebum, as a supervisor and friend. Doing “good” in an occupation where “bad” fills up nine-tenths of the possible outcomes is absolutely nerve wracking for someone who constantly has the third-person perspective.

“Jaebum hyung,” Jinyoung says, taking a deep breath. “You don’t have to worry about us. We’re smart, safe, and we don’t mess around. There’s no more to it.”

“And that means I can’t worry?” hisses Jaebum, voice strained. “At the desk, I can’t get hurt. But all of you, almost every day in the field, _can_.” He exhales shakily. “What happens when a mission goes awry? A ghoul breaks your weapon, gets into your head, or someone loses control? Youngjae is too young and inexperienced to know, but I _do_. I’ve written enough mission statements from past investigators to know that no matter how skilled you are, how prepared you could be, you can still lose the battle. There are so many names on that wall, honored and respected, but I don’t want that to be— It _can’t_ be—”

“ _Enough_ ,” Jinyoung cries. “Hyung, stop.” The end of his sentences wavers as he fights back tears. “We _know_. We all took this job and trained for years, fully aware of the consequences.”

“So let me _worry_ ,” Jaebum pleads. “Losing a couple hours of sleep is nothing compared to losing another one of you guys. The more ghoul investigators there are, the more heartbroken I am. I can’t— I can’t stand it.”

“You don’t understand, hyung,” Jinyoung goes on, making sure to look straight at Jaebum for the rest. “We were the ones who signed up for this. We voluntarily put our lives on the line to save countless others.” He takes Jaebum’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. “No matter how scary it gets, we won’t stop until humanity is safe. We can’t lose our courage.” His composure begins to show its cracks, chipped and worn, and the tears cling to his eyelashes. “But I’m so _afraid_ , hyung.”

A piece of Jaebum’s heart, reserved for the love of his family and friends, breaks. He sighs. “You’ll be all right,” assures Jaebum, stooping down to embrace Jinyoung. His frame is more built than he remembers, arms toned and back straighter. There’s strength and weakness to Jinyoung, all that he’s willing to admit. “We’re here for you.”

The clock strikes midnight. Both of them feel at peace, words spoken and taken off their chests. The light in the office suddenly turns off, and instinctively they whip their heads to the light switch by the door.

“Knock-knock.” Mark peeks his head in, smiling softly. He raises his eyebrows at Jinyoung and Jaebum, who still have their hands atop one another’s. “Ooh, am I interrupting something?”

Jaebum rolls his eyes. “Yah, punk. What are you doing?” he says, beckoning Mark closer. “Who taught you your manners?”

“You,” chuckles Mark. He claps hands with Jaebum and bumps shoulders, the universal bro-shake. “You did a shoddy job, I might add.” Jaebum punches him in the stomach, and Mark winces. “Weak,” he coughs.

Jinyoung wraps the jean jacket around his arms, letting Mark fit his hands through. “Mark hyung, why are you here?” he asks.

Mark kisses him elusively before answering. “I wanted to get some fresh air. And I wanted to see the rare Im Jaebum in his natural environment,” he teases. “Still on the clock, who would’ve guessed.”

Jaebum takes a look at his monitor and shakes his head. “No, I’m done for tonight.” He saves his work and shuts down his computer. Putting on his coat, he says, “Unprecedented overtime, you know me.”

The three of them head out of the building and onto the dark streets of the city. Cars zoom by, traffic posts flicker. “Let’s go grab a bite,” suggests Mark. “I’m in the mood for Chinese. How does jajangmyeon sound for everyone?”

“That depends,” says Jinyoung. “Who’s paying?”

Mark buzzes his lips and whines, “Stingy.” Jaebum and Jinyoung share an exasperated look, and he grumbles, “I will! Mark hyung’s once in a lifetime treat! Rest assured, you can pay me back next time.”

“And when that day comes, I’ll be sure to ask for sushi and steak,” Jinyoung says, grinning. Jaebum concurs, even while Mark protests loudly.

—

The are red hazard signs in several BBQ restaurants that say, _do not let kim namjoon near the fire_. His parents had personally passed around the message after the napkin burning incident at their own restaurant, getting in touch with restaurant owner friends who could possibly encounter similar problems. Ironically, even though Namjoon comes from a family of formidable chefs, he has never gotten the hang of grilling meat. Hoseok laughs when he tells him the story, but Namjoon swears it could’ve been worse. (The sprinklers went off, the fire department came, and Namjoon got grounded for a month, but it could’ve been _worse_. He was only ten!)

That’s why Namjoon sticks to making simple, home-cooked food. There isn’t much to it, and there’s little room for error. He’s not very good with a knife, cuts uneven and sloppy, so Hoseok helps him out if he has the hands to. Hoseok, sweet and innocent, is quite the sight to see in the kitchen, wielding a sharp-edged knife and chopping onions. The end product always tastes good, thankfully.

Today is Valentine’s day, and Namjoon and Hoseok aren’t at work for once in their lives. The CCG, like any credible workplace, allows a set amount of vacation days. The Golden Duo hasn’t taken a single day off since partnering up, so Jaebum had instructed them to take a non-negotiable break for a few days. Namjoon had been reluctant, but after discovering there would be a _penalty_ for not claiming the vacation time he was more than amiable. Hoseok, unlike himself, argued against it but eventually settled, like his partner.

“Why don’t you want a break?” Namjoon had asked. He had known where he’d go during this opportunity: back to Ilsan. Although he converses with his parents frequently he doesn’t see them face-to-face often.

Hoseok had tugged on one of the stitches on his arm, very close to pulling it out of his skin, as he whimpered, “I don’t want to be alone again.”

So that’s why Namjoon, in their shared apartment in Seoul, is in the kitchen, boiling ramyun, while Hoseok is doing Arts & Crafts in the living room. Over the past few months, he’s found that being by Hoseok’s side is worth more than anything else to the elder. He is constantly reminded by the hospital room he had met Hoseok in, and that sight is too daunting to handle alone.

“Say an animal, Namjoonie,” Hoseok says. There is a scattering of white papers on the table, and markers roll off the edge when he doesn’t reach out for them. “Any animal! Quickly!”

“Armadillo,” replies Namjoon. He tastes the broth of the ramyun and adds some minced garlic, courtesy of Hoseok.

A few minutes later Hoseok huffs, “Say _another_ animal.” The armadillo that he’d been drawing is now a ripped sheet in the garbage can. “One that’s easier to draw, please.”

“Horse.”

Hoseok blows a raspberry. He uncaps a brown marker and hovers it above the paper, but then he sits back, scratching his head. “How do you draw that?” he mumbles, stumped. “Namjoonie, a horse has four legs and a ponytail on its butt, right?”

Namjoon snorts, “At that point it’s just a tail, hyung.”

“Oh,” says Hoseok, blinking. “You’re right.” He laughs at himself and starts to draw.

Namjoon’s phone rings from his pocket, one of Verbal Jint’s newest songs. He covers the pot with the lid before checking it. The caller ID shows that it’s Mark Tuan, which is odd. Mark has never called him before — Jinyoung is usually the one to do so, for the sake of checking his wellbeing every so often. He answers, “Hello?”

“ _We’ve got him_.”

“Who?” It takes a moment for the statement to register, but when it does Namjoon glances over his shoulder, where Hoseok has gotten up and placed his head. “Azalea?” Hoseok gasps. “How do you know?”

“Is he cute?” mouths Hoseok, and Namjoon shushes him. “What? I’m only asking...”

Mark doesn’t give any indication that he’d heard Hoseok and only responds to Namjoon, “ _Okay, we scoped around Myeongdong and ran into this shop owner who knew this hairdresser who talked to this baker— Look, it’s a long story, but the point is we aren’t 100% sure. Jinyoung and I brought him to the CCG headquarters, for questioning, and we put him into a holding room in the basement._ ” The voice goes silent, and Namjoon has to make sure he’s still on the line. “ _Sorry_ ,” Mark says. “ _He keeps staring at the one-way mirror like he can_ sense _us. It’s creeping me out._ ”

Namjoon runs a hand through his silver hair, a small sigh escaping past his lips. “Have you told anyone else? Are either of you hurt?”

“ _No and no_ ,” Mark assures quickly. Hoseok is just as relieved as Namjoon. “ _We’re all peaches and cream here. Jinyoung is dialing Jaebum right now_.”

“Good,” Namjoon says. He checks the ramyun and shuts off the stovetop before the noodles can become too soft. “Do you need us there?”

“ _Yeah, if it’s not an inconvenience. Jackson and Youngjae are in the field now, and Heeyeon and Hyojin are vacationing in Jeju Island. Also, Dahye and Yuji aren’t picking up my calls._ ”

Hoseok harrumphs, “Eh? How come you called everyone else before us? Were we last resort, Mark hyung?” Namjoon snickers at the reaction.

It gets a laugh out of Mark. “ _Hoseok, don’t think of it like that. The contact names in my phone are alphabetical_ ,” he argues jokingly. “ _Will you guys come_?”

Namjoon answers, “We’re on our way.”

“ _Stay safe_.”

Namjoon heads to his bedroom, finding proper attire to wear. He picks something more casual than usual, a blazer and jeans, since they’re technically still on “vacation.” Hoseok does the same, pulling on shorts and a hoodie, although that’s how he normally dresses.

While they’re at the door, slipping into their shoes, Namjoon tells Hoseok, “Grab your briefcase. We may need it.”

Hoseok puffs air into his cheeks, like a squirrel ready to hibernate, and grumbles, “Roger that.” He goes back to his room and fetches his briefcase, hefting it in his arms, and then stops by the kitchen and cries, “My ramyun!”

“You can eat it when we get back,” Namjoon promises. Hoseok whimpers. “You can handle a late dinner, hyung.”

There is still a touch of sourness to Hoseok’s mood as they head out the door. From above, a light drizzle starts to occur. As the droplets of water get caught on the steel of Hoseok’s briefcase and the strands of Namjoon’s hair, Hoseok can feel his spirit being uplifted. Quickly, he skips forth and sings, offkey and atrocious, and Namjoon stays close behind, making sure his partner doesn’t fall off the curbs he climbs on.


	14. take, take, take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im literally the worst, heres a chapter, thnx for reading

The first time Taehyung hears Jungkook sing his foot catches on the leg of a table and he spills coffee all over Seunghee’s lap. It’s only a frappuccino so thankfully it’s not hot, but the glare she gives him as she grumbles, “This is my _favorite_ skirt,” could surely melt several regions in the Arctic.

“I-I’m so sorry,” stammers Taehyung, and he’s glad no one else is around to see his blunder. “You can have another coffee — on the house.”

“Because this one is already on _me_ ,” Seunghee mutters, standing up and stomping to the bathroom. (She’s a ghoul, young and confident, and she frequents Cypher as a safe zone like many others. Learning that Taehyung is akin to a ghoul has made her somewhat friendly to him, albeit shown in harsh ways.)

As she leaves, Taehyung echoes pitifully, “My bad.” Once she’s out of sight he’s reminded of why he’d stumbled in the first place: an angelic voice, harmonious and unlike anything he’s heard before. He runs straight to the kitchen, catching Jungkook off guard while he’s washing the dishes.

Three months of knowing Jungkook, and Taehyung still finds it hard to believe that this kid is younger than him. Jungkook’s hair has grown shaggy, his roots displaying the natural black as the maroon sticks to the ends. He stands sure-footed, back curved forward as he scrubs at a glass. If he was at his full height he would just barely proceed Taehyung, which is a bit of a disappointment. The silver earrings in his ears glimmer like small stars in the night. And he’s gotten more handsome, a mix between charming and cool.

While Taehyung stands there, openly gaping, Jungkook turns off the water and asks, “What do you need?”

Then, the words tumble gracelessly out of Taehyung’s mouth: “Jungkook? Was that— Were you actually— How come you never—” Jungkook’s amused expression makes him take a steadying breath and inquire slowly, “You can sing?”

Quickly, Jungkook’s hand comes up to touch his mouth, like he had said something inappropriate. He turns his attention back to the sink, where he busies himself and sets the dishes out to dry. “It... wasn’t anything special. I’ve had that Zion.T song stuck in my head for days now,” he murmurs, instinctively making room when Taehyung comes to his side to help him. “I sing sometimes. No big deal.”

“You’re wonderful,” compliments Taehyung, dazed. The tips of his ears are glowing red as Jungkook smiles to himself, and Taehyung only then realizes what he’d said. “Your _voice_! Your voice is wonderful! From— From what I overheard. I’m talking about your vocals.” He gives an awkward (but appreciated) thumbs-up. “Really good.”

Jungkook says a quiet, “Thanks.” He turns to Taehyung, elbowing him softly. “Jimin sings, too, doesn’t he? He talks about it a lot.”

Taehyung nods, grinning. “He’s in the college musical. It premieres next month, and he’s working his hardest for it. Practices are every day, almost seven or eight hours. Singing and musicals are what he lives for, you know.”

“I can tell. He always leaves early for practice. Seokjin hyung has to make sure he takes snacks with him, because he forgets to eat sometimes,” says Jungkook. “Is it any good? The musical?”

The answer is quite simply “yes,” but Taehyung’s heart decides to make a grand appearance, barreling through the doors and and speaking for his head. (In a time like this, where his words process through his mouth before his brain can, he wishes he were a fish tank — filter graciously included.)

“Do you want to come watch it with me?”

Jungkook is blinking at him, speechless, but Taehyung’s mouth won’t stop its senseless gabbing as he proceeds to explain, “The matinee is on a Thursday, which is a little weird, but it’s cheaper during the afternoon. I can pay for your ticket, since I’ll have a student discount on mine anyway.” He worries his lower lip. “Whaddaya say?”

Jungkook wipes his hands dry and walks out of the kitchen, Taehyung nervously following behind him. “That’s okay,” he says, nonchalant, and Taehyung visibly deflates. But he doesn’t stop there, with a small smile and an airy declaration of: “I can pay for my own ticket. _You_ have to tell me what time.”

Taehyung beams, “I’ll pick you up!” He tries to keep the overflowing excitement out of his voice, pitched half an octave too high. From the sound of Jungkook’s snickers his attempt is unsuccessful, which is fine. An outing with Jungkook is an occasion to anticipate, because the waiter isn’t one to socialize much with others (aside from Taehyung and other ghouls).

As they get back to work Taehyung can’t help but steal glances at Jungkook, an act that he’s committed more and more often. The younger man shows off his genuine smile to waiting customers, a rare sight to behold, even engaging in friendly banter every so often. Something is different about him, yet Taehyung knows that Jungkook has always been like this: kind and caring, soft and humorous. It just took a while for him to show it. Taehyung is glad to have witnessed the minor changes.

While he’s worked at Cypher Taehyung has learned that Jungkook struggles to interact with humans in the same way he does with ghouls, clipped and abrupt with the former. The reason why is unknownst to him, but Jungkook is getting better at it — he talks frequently with Jimin, and some of Taehyung’s college buddies when they visit. Oftentimes the interactions prompt Taehyung’s jealousy, which has begun to spark and crackle when it comes to Jungkook.

To be frank, Taehyung may have wanted to keep this charming version of Jungkook to himself, but that’s selfish and uncalled for. Things aren’t completely platonic anymore on Taehyung’s end, he sees that now, but he’s not sure how willing Jungkook is to reciprocate, if at all. The ghoul can be as cold as a wintry day or as warm as a spring breeze to him, and there’s no way of Taehyung knowing how he truly feels. There is so much hidden by Jungkook, secrets locked tight that he refuses to let loose, and Taehyung doesn’t know if he’s brave enough to try and find the key. For now, he can watch the waiter from afar and wait for another day to pass, coffee staining his breath and infatuation in his irises.

A few hours after noon Seokjin bursts into Cypher, hair frizzed from the humidity, and nearly crashes into Yewon, a young schoolgirl (and ghoul) taking a mocha latte to-go. The buttons of his shirt are mismatched, and there’s a flush to his cheeks. He pants heavily, catching his breath. “I apologize to everyone: we’re closing early,” he announces, bowing deeply. “We’re terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but there is an urgent family matter that we have to deal with.”

There is definitely an air of confusion, hushed murmurs and disdainful frowns, but the customers pack up their belongings and leave. The ones who are ghouls stay for a moment longer, to rub Seokjin’s shoulder or grasp his hand, but they, too, must go. After all the customers have left, Seokjin rapidly takes the waiters to his office and sits them on the couch. He fixes the bird’s nest atop his head, undoes his tie, and throws it off to the side, where it falls onto the floor. As he rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands Taehyung and Jungkook stare on, puzzled.

“Hyung, what’s going on?” asks Jungkook. “Why are you acting like this?”

Taehyung keeps his mouth closed; the situation doesn’t seem like one he should butt into. He’s never seen Seokjin so out of order and unkempt, and he’s not sure how to react. Just yesterday Seokjin had been introducing him to Yoobin, an intelligent scholar and ghoul, with suave speaking and friendly gestures. There must be something seriously wrong going on for Seokjin to be so agitated.

“Hakyeon hyung,” murmurs Seokjin, pacing around the room. “God, it’s _Hakyeon_ hyung.”

“What’s happened to him?” Jungkook says, and his voice has gotten meeker.

“I don’t know when it happened. Last week, yesterday, this morning—” Seokjin halts. “Yoongi stopped me. I was coming from the grocery store and he pulled me aside. He’s so _careless_ , to think that he could’ve...” Words fading, Seokjin sits down on the armrest and buries his face in his hands. “The CCG has Hakyeon hyung.”

Jungkook’s mouth falls open. At first he tries to laugh away the proclamation, but Seokjin remains stone-faced and he grows silent. “That— You can’t be serious. Hakyeon hyung— He’s one of the strongest ghouls out there.” His eyes turn glassy, reflecting the light, and he whispers numbly, “Isn’t he?”

Seokjin nods. “Exactly. It doesn’t make _any_ sense.” He pauses, and then he gets up and sifts through the filing cabinet. He pulls out a green folder that Taehyung swears he’s seen before. “Once the sun goes down I’m going to the GFLS house and talking with the rest of them — Taekwoon hyung, Jaehwan, Wonshik, Sanghyuk...”

“Hongbin hyung won’t do it,” mutters Jungkook.

“Hongbin _might_ ,” Seokjin counters. “We’re making a plan to get Hakyeon hyung back. He would want to pitch in to save him.” He takes a quick look into the folder and continues, “Taehyung, I apologize for this, but I’d like your cooperation as well.”

The request catches Taehyung by surprise. Not only is he overwhelmingly inexperienced, but he hasn’t even met any of the aforementioned ghouls. At this point he can tell that they matter severely to Jungkook and Seokjin, and by extension he should care for them as well. Ghouls stick out for one another, and Taehyung is trying his best to fit in somewhere.

“Of course,” he says. Jungkook stares at him, wordless, but he looks confused. Taehyung’s head is spinning, but he goes on, “What do you need me to do?”

“Jungkook will take you back to your apartment to get your mask. I’d rather not have to say this, but you may need it. Afterwards, come straight to Taekwoon hyung’s house.” Seokjin adds strictly, “Do you hear me?”

“Yes, hyung.”

“Good.” Seokjin’s eyes land on Jungkook, who has begun to bite his fingernails. He points a crooked finger and says, “Do _you_ hear me?”

Jungkook responds vacantly, “I heard you loud and clear.” He sounds so alone that it makes Taehyung want to give him a hug. (Although he wouldn’t; the closest they’ve been together had been when Jungkook took his hand in his. Taehyung can’t recreate a moment like that.)

Seokjin wrings his hands together. “Alright,” he sighs. “Be quick and be safe, boys. I have some more files to grab. Go, and I’ll meet you at the house.”

—

After arriving at his apartment, Taehyung can’t help but feel self-conscious by Jungkook’s presence. The whole place hasn’t been cleaned in ages, and Taehyung excuses the state of his living space by saying he hasn’t had the time, which is for the most part true. Jungkook doesn’t comment much, gaze lingering on the textbooks and spare change on the table. Taehyung tries to kick his mess of clothes under his bed as he heads to the bathroom.

On the sink, Taehyung’s mask is wedged between the faucet and his toothbrush holder. No one has told him anything about the masks yet — why exactly he has one, why it looks like it does. Yoongi had done a great job creating it, but _why_? This isn’t the right time to dwell on it, so he takes the mask and returns to the living room.

There, Jungkook is flipping through Taehyung’s Pokémon-themed calendar, quietly reading the dates to himself. February is Ditto. “Today is Valentine’s Day,” he remarks quietly.

“Ah, I forgot,” Taehyung blurts, and Jungkook startles. He must not have heard Taehyung come out. “I’m not good with dates.”

“I know,” says Jungkook, revealing a small smile. “You forgot your own birthday for crying out loud. Who does that?”

Taehyung shrugs. “I do, and I’ve learned to accept it.” He peers over Jungkook’s shoulder, where he’s flipped the calendar to March, Vileplume. “Are you trying to see if you have to do something next month?”

“Not really,” Jungkook says. “Yoongi hyung’s birthday is coming up, if that counts for anything.”

“Will you get him a gift?” asks Taehyung. Jungkook smiles and ducks his head. “Yeah? What kind of things does he like? I don’t know him that well, but maybe I can help you decide.”

“We both like music a lot. He’s the one who taught me how to compose, actually,” confesses Jungkook. “It might be cheesy, but I was thinking of writing him a short song. Show him how far I’ve come and what I’ve learned... or something.”

Taehyung grins widely. “I’d love to listen to you sing. Properly, too,” he proclaims. “After this whole ordeal, hopefully?”

“Sure,” says Jungkook. “I’d like that.”

Tickled pink, Taehyung urges, “Let’s go meet the others.”

Face darkening, Jungkook takes a few moments before nodding slowly. (The shift in his expression, his stance, makes Taehyung swallow.) Taking out his own mask — shaped like a stoic cartoon rabbit — from the inside of his coat he pulls the elastic band over his forehead and has the mask face behind him. He takes a deep breath.

“We’re going there,” he declares, “right now.” He stares at the window, at the evening sky. When his gaze falls back on Taehyung he says, with conviction, “The CCG headquarters.”

Taken aback, Taehyung stammers, “W-Wait a second, Jungkook, Seokjin hyung said—”

“Yeah, I know. Fuck that,” scoffs Jungkook. Taehyung flinches, and Jungkook bites his lip. “If we wait any longer, who knows what will happen to Hakyeon hyung. They’ve got him, and they could do _anything_ to him. There are no laws protecting ghouls, Taehyung, only ones that persecute us. I can’t lose another—” He clenches his fists. “I can get him back.”

This is dangerous territory. Jungkook is determined for a cause he could get hurt for, and Taehyung can see how serious he is is about it. The bridge he’s built to connect with Jungkook may crumble depending on how he takes this. Should he just let him go? Without argument or restraint? Or should Taehyung stop Jungkook from seriously endangering himself? What’s the right thing to do? What _should_ he do?

Taehyung takes a tentative step closer, holding his hand on his chest. He can feel how clammy his palm is, but he’s no less sure of himself. “Jungkook, I’m here, too.”

“Don’t stop me.”

“I won’t,” Taehyung promises, but Jungkook still looks hesitant. He tries again. “I’m going to help you. I _want_ to help you. You can’t do this alone.” He pulls on his mask, feeling the unfamiliar fabric settle against his lower half of his face, molding to him like a second skin. “Tell me what to do.”

And, in that instant, Jungkook’s shoulders sag in relief. He shows a smile, not shy or happy, but unsettled. Anxious. “Trust me,” he says, and he heads out the door.

—

Hoseok stops walking and stares up at the sky, which continues to give a drizzle to the dry earth. There are dark clouds looming above them, clear indications of an upcoming rainstorm. “I can smell them!” he exclaims, grinning.

Namjoon turns and takes a look around. They are a little ways down the road from headquarters, but nothing stands out significantly. There are empty garbage disposals, splatters of litter, but the stench isn’t strong enough for Namjoon to notice anything suspicious. Whatever has caught Hoseok’s attention hasn’t been picked up by Namjoon. Then again, Hoseok has always had odd ways of sensing things.

“What are you talking about, hyung?”

Twirling around in circles, Hoseok hugs his briefcase close to his chest and giggles, “ _Ghouls_.”


	15. tell me i'm fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my goal is to end this at 20 chapters. i dont know my own time limit for that, but that's the goal. who knows what the word count will be by the end of it, maybe 90k or 100k at the endgame?? yeah, i havent written it all out, barely have it all planned, but that's what i'm hoping!! seriously,, thanks everyone for reading!!!!! i don't update often, so i apologize if u actively look forward to regular posts!! i am not a consistent fic writer!!!!!!! 
> 
> forewarning: lots of talk of blood & gore in this chapter

It’s a weird feeling, walking across rooftops. Taehyung has never done it before, so he’s constantly losing his footing on the edges, which are wet from the ongoing rain, as they jump. Thankfully, Jungkook is helping him along with encouraging words and limitless patience.

“Almost there,” Jungkook says. “Come on, Tae, only a little longer.”

Taehyung almost slips onto his face and onto the cement far down below, but Jungkook catches him by the arm and steadies him. They meet one another’s gazes, a short moment in time, and Taehyung stammers, “What’d you call me?”

“Tae,” mouths Jungkook, the sound barely leaving his lips. Noticing his grip still on Taehyung he swiftly brings his hands to his mask, which still faces behind him, and adjusts the strap. “I guess... it just came out like that. My bad.” He bites his lip. “Sorry, I should be calling you ‘hyung’.”

“No, I like it. I like it! Just Tae. We’re more comfortable without honorifics. It... would be weird to start now,” assures Taehyung, frantically waving his hands in front of him. Jungkook gives a slight nod.

A few rooftops later: “Tae,” Jungkook says, suddenly. He murmurs it, quiet, and Taehyung is surprised he can detect it with the sound of rain drowning out his own thoughts.

“Yeah?”

Jungkook gives him a look, one that should come with a thousand words and then some, but he responds despondently, “Nothing.”

Taehyung wonders how often it’s felt like this, where Jungkook refuses to give him the answers he craves for. Where Jungkook, the ends of his sleeves frayed and his bottom lip bitten red, doesn’t tell Taehyung what he really wants to say. There’s something between them, something intangible and ungraspable. Something. As they continue their journey to the CCG headquarters Taehyung watches Jungkook from behind while the younger boy never turns back.

The foreboding skyscraper comes into view soon enough. Taehyung recognizes it easily, because he and Jimin used to pass it during their high school summers, when they would walk to the city and buy ice cream cones from street vendors. The CCG building is featured on TV often, too, whether it’s the news or SNL Korea. The windows are spotless, tinted, and there’s snow shoveled off of the fairly empty lot in front. There must not be that many people working right now, if any.

“We’re here,” Jungkook says, rather redundantly. He crouches at the edge of the roof, pulling up his hood, and Taehyung follows his example.

“So what’s the plan?” Taehyung is met with silence, and that worries him. Worries him enough to grab onto Jungkook’s shoulder and urge, “You must’ve thought of one by now.”

“And if I hadn’t? Would you trust me still?” Jungkook smiles at Taehyung, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Taehyung purses his lips as Jungkook moves away, Taehyung’s hand falling off his frame.

They peek around to survey the area around the CCG building. There are security cameras attached at the entrance, above the light posts. Surely even more are hidden from plain sight. The rain continues to fall, a steady _pitter-patter_ , with a blackening sky above them. The doors must be locked tight — how in the world will they get in?

Jungkook spots something in the distance and curses. “Shit.” He hurriedly pulls on his mask so it covers his face and urgently shakes Taehyung for him to do the same.

Taehyung tries to stay calm as he stays behind Jungkook, frowning. “What is it?” The mask over his mouth hinders his voice, makes it harder to distinguish his words, but Jungkook is listening closely.

“Over there, past the lot,” he whispers, pointing forward. His mask, too, muffles his voice. It covers his whole face, and Taehyung desperately wants to see his eyes as he announces gravely, “Investigators.”

All the blood in Taehyung’s body runs cold. He’s never met an investigator, those unsung heroes Jimin raves on and on about. The ones who kill ghouls because that’s what they’re trained for, that’s their job. Before his accident he never felt anything towards them. No pride, no disgust — only indifference. Now he’s changed.

There are two of them, and even from this distance Taehyung can sense their overbearingly strong aura. Although dressed like normal citizens both of them stand out from the pale backdrop of a receding winter. The taller one has silver hair, like that of pressed diamonds, while the other has what seems to be red thread weaved into several parts of his face and skin. All they’re doing is talking, but their postures look guarded, wary.

“What now?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, only reaches out to slip his hand into Taehyung’s. It’s warm.

With a swift tug Jungkook pulls Taehyung off the roof and back onto ground level, landing like a cat on its feet, while Taehyung wobbles. The investigators are in front of the CCG doors, unmoving. (Taehyung wonders how Jungkook knows that they’re investigators, because no one really knows _who_ investigators are, with classified identities and all, but he supposes that’s a question to save for a better time.)

“The schematics— There’s a sewer line that leads into the basement, but it’s on the other side of the building. I don’t think we can get to it without passing them, even on the roofs,” says Jungkook. His fingers are fidgeting as they rest in Taehyung’s hand. “Fuck.”

“How about we take off our masks? We could walk past them and they wouldn’t suspect us. We’d be like regular humans.” Taehyung thinks it a good plan — maybe not the best, but it’s something. He knows what it means to be a regular human, albeit a faint memory now.

However, Jungkook shakes his head at the proposal. “No,” he says. “Too risky. For me it is.” He takes a pause and lets go of Taehyung’s hand. “They wouldn’t know you, but I can’t let you do it alone. I can’t— can’t be held responsible.”

Taehyung can’t see his face, but he can imagine Jungkook’s eyes — sad, lost, frightened. That’s not what Jungkook needs. Taehyung doesn’t know what he needs. He doesn’t know anything. This boy who has seen more darkness in people than Taehyung refuses to acknowledge— Jungkook needs solace.

Unzipping his mask Taehyung shows Jungkook a toothy grin. “Whatever happens to me is going to be my fault, okay? I won’t blame you. I won’t even blame myself.” Taehyung zips his mask again and declares warmly, “I’ll blame the whole wide world besides us two.”

Jungkook laughs, a sound that’s a little less hollow than a rotting trunk in the forest. “I can’t believe you,” he murmurs.

“You have time to try.”

Then, there’s a noise. The sound of a heavy briefcase hitting the pavement — Taehyung sees it, dropped by that red-threaded man.

The silver-haired investigator speaks briefly with the other investigator and pushes his hands into his coat pockets. “You over there!” he shouts, and he’s looking in their direction. He sees them. He knows they’re hiding. “There’s no one else but you two.”

Taehyung is frozen in place, immobilized, the soles of his shoes stuck to the pavement like he’d stepped in chewing gum. He wants to reach for Jungkook’s hand, but he’s too scared beyond belief to make a single move. He can hear his own heartbeat, thudding, restless, in sync with the throbbing of his veins. Thoughts race past, baiting him.

What if they have to fight? What if the investigators are too strong for them? What if Taehyung can’t use his RC cells? What if someone gets hurt? What if _Jungkook_ gets hurt? What’ll happen to them then?

“Are you coming for Azalea?” the same investigator asks, and it’s a simple question. Standard volume, but Taehyung can hear him loud and clear.

“Don’t answer him,” mutters Jungkook. “Don’t say my name. Don’t say yours. Don’t— Don’t move at all.”

“What are we going to do?” Taehyung darts his eyes and tries to look past the rabbit mask, past the barrier, past the shell. He can’t. “Jungkook, I’m afraid.”

And, what’s worst of all, Jungkook’s response is a hushed, “Me, too.”

—

Hoseok had noticed them right away. Those two ghouls on the roof, who then hid in the alley. Namjoon had almost slipped when Hoseok told him, but that was because of wet ground and wrong footing, not surprise. Namjoon rarely gets surprised by him, and ever since that phone call with Mark he’s been more attuned with what’s around him anyway.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s get them!” hollers Hoseok, kicking agitatedly at his briefcase. He’d let it go when he’d met eyes with the ghoul with the half mask. The excitement came to him like a crashing wave, a feeling like never before, engulfed and drowned and rejuvenated and— and— “Slice and dice, Namjoonie! Sweet and easy!”

“Hold your horses,” Namjoon sighs. “We have to make sure we can take them. Calling them out isn’t _technically_ an invitation to fight.” Namjoon looks at the sky. “The rain is letting up, but the night is coming.”

“That’d be perfect for a fight,” Hoseok mutters. “You always say broad daylight is bad.”

“You should be aware of what you’re up against, though.”

Hoseok pouts. “Can you _please_ tell me, Namjoonie?”

Namjoon tries to keep the smugness out of his voice as he begins, “Rabbit, rank _A_ , identified a few years ago when he fled the scene of a three person serial murder. He runs out of energy quickly, understandable for ghouls with feathered RC cells. Shining wings, one significantly larger than the other. His attacks are quick, but they don’t last longer than a minute at a time. He’s weak defensively, but given how focused he is on attacks there’s bound to be an opening.”

“Easy kill,” Hoseok hums, shaking his leg. “I can give his weapon to Bam Bam, if he ever becomes an investigator. I hope he doesn’t, but I bet it’s pretty.” He puts his hand at his eyebrows, looking out at the motionless ghouls, and asks Namjoon, “What about that other one? Half mask? I got a— got a weird vibe from him.”

Nearly every day at the office Namjoon takes the time to refresh himself on all the info the CCG has on the ghouls in the Seoul district. He has dozens of aliases ghouls are named after memorized (Ragdoll, Fawn, German Shepherd, etc.). This one with a skeletal half mask he doesn’t recognize at all.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’ve never seen that ghoul before. He must be new to the area. Make a mental note.”

Hoseok nods. “I can take on both of them. I can.”

“We _can’t_ do anything until they give us reason to do so, hyung. You know the protocol.”

“They’re wearing _masks_ , Namjoonie. Those are illegal!” Hoseok yells frantically. He hasn’t fought ghouls in an excruciatingly long time — he must be anxious. He wants to, wants to _so badly_. The opportunity is right in front of him, just out of reach. “That’s _something_!”

“The most we can get from that is arresting them. You’d be convicted of first degree murder if you went off on your own right now,” declares Namjoon.

Hoseok remarks a slew of curses under his breath and bites his nails. He’s sulking, and Namjoon lets him. A minute later his and Namjoon’s phone beep with the same message, and Hoseok’s eyes go wide as he reads it.

_The CCG headquarters in Seoul has been breached. Currently under lockdown. Investigators Mark Tuan, Park Jinyoung, Jung Inseong, and Oh Heejun are now engaged in combat. Three high ranking ghouls are present and roaming, while one is suspected to still be in containment. There is reason to believe several other ghouls may attempt to enter the building to assist the rogue ghouls. Any investigators in the area are are urged to respond and keep guard._

“This is enough, right? Accomplices, Namjoonie!” Hoseok exclaims, furtively waving his phone in front of Namjoon’s face. “We can’t let any more ghouls into headquarters. It’s a danger for everyone inside! Killing these ones here is the best, right? Right?”

Calmly ignoring his partner Namjoon types out a reply to the message for the other employees to see. _Investigators Kim Namjoon and Jung Hoseok are in front of the CCG, with everything under control_. With that, knowing that the Golden Duo is here, no other investigators will come by or question them as of now. The less investigators on call, the better.

(Hoseok alone is enough to kill an army.)

“Yes.” Namjoon pockets his phone, and Hoseok’s grin widens. “Don’t slip, hyung.”

With a maniacal giggle Hoseok pops open the briefcase with his foot, skillfully putting together his scythe, and breaks into a dash headed straight for the pair of ghouls. They’re caught off guard, frazzled, and are forced to scatter in different directions — Rabbit goes further across the lot, the half mask tripping over his feet to retreat behind a parked car. Rabbit’s blood weapon forms instantaneously, demonic wings behind his back that resemble an injured crow’s. Hoseok sees it and gazes, starry-eyed, and then he takes his first swing.

While Hoseok is engaged with the rank _A_ ghoul Namjoon goes through the open briefcase and procures a pseudo-ghoul weapon of his own. It had been a recent decision to equip himself with one; he supposed it was about time. The weapon is light, fairly easy to handle, and is more of a defensive prop. It takes the form of a dull blade, almost like a battering ram with a grip at one end — it had originally been the shining tail of Bumblebee, rank _S_ , but was reshaped for better accessibility. Namjoon has been practicing with it for a few weeks, has gotten to the point where he can spar and not fall on his face. Since they’ve taken time off he hasn’t been able to fight ghouls just yet. Right now, with an unregistered ghoul, is as good a time as any.

The half mask ghoul hasn’t moved since Rabbit and Hoseok began fighting, and Namjoon puts that into memory. He must be a young ghoul, low ranking, with a subpar blood weapon. Namjoon approaches him slowly while the ghoul’s attention is trained on the scene in the lot.

Hoseok and Rabbit are nearly evenly matched. Rabbit expels bullet-like shots at Hoseok’s feet as he glides high in the air, dodging Hoseok’s scythe whenever it comes near. However, Hoseok’s advantage comes from how fast he can recover his attacks compared to Rabbit, so he’s able to land small cuts and scrapes on Rabbit’s coat. Hoseok doesn’t have a single scratch on him.

Logically, Namjoon should take the half mask ghoul down while he’s unprepared. But Namjoon wants information, given how rare it is to come across an unregistered ghoul in Seoul. What if there are more ghouls like him? With similar fighting styles or weapons? Striking a conversation is what comes to his mind; it’s something he can compromise at any point if things go awry.

“Hello, ghoul. It’s nice to see you.”

The half mask ghoul flinches, and when he turns to look at Namjoon something about him is... different. Namjoon notices he has an eyepatch connected with his mask, lined with skeletal teeth, and the eye that shows isn’t black and red. It’s white and brown. Like a human’s. He’s without a weapon, a sitting duck, and also without the courage that Namjoon normally comes across in ghouls. Interesting.

“I want to talk,” Namjoon starts. The half mask moves back, silent, and glances at Rabbit. “Your friend is tied up with my partner. He won’t be able to help you, and I highly doubt you can do anything for him. Hoseok hyung is too good to be a distraction.” Namjoon rests his weapon at his hip. “Are you from this district?”

The ghoul meets Namjoon’s eyes and looks — looks afraid. He’s trembling. He has no weapon summoned, so it could all be a ploy to deceive Namjoon into thinking he’s weaker. (Maybe he is.)

“You must be strong if you’re hanging around a rank _A_ ghoul,” Namjoon continues, and Hoseok’s scythe clashing against Rabbit’s wings is background noise. “You’re not on the register here, but I’m sure you’re already aware of that. Where are you from? China? Japan?”

Fervently shaking his head the ghoul brings his hands to his mask and unzips the portion at the mouth. “I—” His voice is rough, unsteady, and his lips are clearly bitten raw. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t.”

Warning bells clang dissonantly in Namjoon’s brain. The unforeseen statement is enough reason for him to charge, and the half mask scurries out of the way. It’s a game of dodge and dash, because the half mask refuses to confront Namjoon head-on. It’s aggravating.

Rabbit and Hoseok are still going at it, but Rabbit’s moves are sluggish and he lacks his earlier offensive edge. When he gets cut in the leg, almost deep enough for the bone to show, he cries out and retreats into the air, his wings carrying him farther and farther in the sky. Hoseok follows on foot, laughing.

The half mask stops his fleeing, then, and finally takes a fighting stance. Namjoon is paused in front of him, catching his breath. Zipping his mask the ghoul finally summons his blood weapon, and Namjoon is rendered speechless.

Six tentacles, the size of lampposts and as sharp as daggers, emerge from his back. The half mask’s uncovered eye changes its appearance from human to ghoul, and Namjoon can already tell what he’ll report the ghoul’s codename as, an outstanding feature, unerasable from memory — Eyepatch. The appearance of his weapon gives Namjoon a sense of unease and familiarity, like he’s seen it before but can’t quite place.

Eyepatch doesn’t make the first move, so Namjoon does. The ghoul isn’t nearly as fast as Rabbit, but he’s able to defend himself much easier than his companion. He’s graceless in his movements, similar to how Namjoon had once been, but his weapon is strong and sturdy. Every time Namjoon advances Eyepatch blocks wherever he’s hit, the tentacles acting as opposable limbs that function just like arms or legs.

Namjoon is the first one to get hit. It’s only a small nick at his shoulder, but he immediately is embarrassed — he’s an investigator, one of the best in the nation, yet he can barely manage a ghoul whose supposed intent “isn’t to hurt him.” Great.

“Are you going back on your word?” he hollers, bringing a hand to his cut. There’s blood, but not enough to worry him.

Oddly enough, Eyepatch halts. His tentacles suddenly become more fluid, less jagged, like he’s surprised at his compliance to Namjoon’s declaration. Namjoon seizes the opportunity to land multiple blows to his sides. Eyepatch is hurled backwards, not given enough time to recover, the tentacles grasping futilely at the ground as he skids across it. The murky puddles are dragged along with him, smearing the water with red. Namjoon walks closer, closer, watches the ghoul cough and breathe labored breaths.

Eyepatch gets up carefully, wobbling, and readies to take on Namjoon once more, even while he’s battered and bruised. But then there’s a scream.

Rabbit drops from the sky after a nasty swing from Hoseok’s scythe and hits the pavement, hard. He’s bleeding from his chest, legs, arms, his coat soaked with rainwater and blood. From this distance there’s no way of telling how much damage Hoseok has inflicted thus far. Knowing Hoseok, though, this ghoul is probably on his way to his deathbed. Whistling, Hoseok twirls his scythe and grins wickedly. He plans on finishing Rabbit off (and he’ll want to take off his head for posterity’s sake).

In the next instant Eyepatch is gone from Namjoon’s line of sight and crouching where Rabbit is crumpled. The tentacles from his back form a makeshift shield around the fallen ghoul, like a ribcage that protects the vital organs of a body. Hoseok swings his scythe at it but to no avail. The tentacles are as tough as reinforced steel, and with every clash of the pseudo-ghoul weapon it damages the blade, revealing cracks along the sides. Hoseok tries, loses his smile. tries, screams, keeps trying—

“It’s no use,” Namjoon shouts. He lugs his weapon at his side, standing several feet behind his partner. “You won’t get past that, hyung.”

Huffing, Hoseok wipes the sweat beading down his forehead. He glares at Namjoon. “What do you mean?” he sneers, and there’s blood on his fingers from holding his scythe so tight. “I’m _so close_ to killing him! He’s— He’s dying. I have to finish the mission. At least him. One. That’s what I have to do. Mama will be mad— It’ll hurt— She’s gonna— I can’t—”

Namjoon holds Hoseok back by the forearm. “Stop,” he says. “Please, hyung.”

Hoseok’s pupils dart to his legs, and he stops. He looks anxious again, not in a good way but in a way similar to how abused dogs look when they come across humans. Scared of the next hit that won’t ever come. Then, his and Namjoon’s phones go off with another message from administration.

_The CCG headquarters are unsafe. Evacuation will occur shortly. The captured ghoul has escaped, along with the ghouls that assisted. Several investigators are in critical condition. All on-duty investigators are asked to retreat to their homes, or any other safe spaces, until further notice._

That gets Hoseok to drop his scythe, the weapon clattering against the blacktop. “Namjoonie,” he says, eyes wide. “Jinyoung. Mark. They were—” He’s trembling, his fingernails raking his face. Blood taints tan skin, his own.

Dropping his own weapon Namjoon takes Hoseok’s wrist and tugs. Hoseok freezes. “Let’s go.” Namjoon takes one look at the ghouls, in their own protected world, and saves his breath. “Let’s go to the hospital. This battle doesn’t need a winner.”

Hoseok bursts into tears as they pack away their pseudo-ghoul weapons. He doesn’t tell Namjoon how he’s feeling, if he’s sad from not killing the ghoul or finding out their coworkers may be gravely injured or both. They leave the ghouls alone and go straight to the hospital, Namjoon’s arm around Hoseok’s shoulders to hold him close, safe, secure.

—

Taehyung hasn’t used his blood weapon since that fateful day in December, when he’d done so without even trying. Back then, it was pure instinct. An uncontrollable impulse. Beyond that, he hasn’t practiced with it, hasn’t even figured out how to properly summon or wield it. And yet, with all his might, he’s been protecting Jungkook’s broken body with the six appendage-like tentacles surrounding the both of them. Taehyung holds Jungkook on his lap, patiently stroking his hair.

The investigators have stopped trying to break through Taehyung’s manifested RC cells and have long gone. It’s over. They must’ve thought it to be pointless. Although Taehyung’s weapon is fully unsheathed, the tentacles aren’t as versatile as they were when the battle began, Jungkook’s wings are breaking their form. The ghoul is panting, short of breath. Taehyung moves Jungkook’s mask and makes it face behind him, watches the twinges of pain on Jungkook’s features.

“We have to go to the house. You’re hurt,” Taehyung says softly. Jungkook’s head makes a small movement, hopefully a nod, while his eyes haven’t opened since he dropped. Taehyung hoists Jungkook up from under his knees and back, standing tall. He’s unzipped his mask so he can be heard clearer. “You’re bleeding, Jungkook. It’s— It’s not stopping.”

Taehyung couldn’t see it before, but with Jungkook cradled in his arms he can survey how beaten the boy is. A deep cut travels from his mid-thigh to knee. The gash at his front spans his whole chest, the blood staining his coat. There are even more cuts on his arms, some of them only tearing the sleeves but most marring skin. What scares Taehyung is the amount of Jungkook’s blood he has on his hands, like watercolor paints on a flat palette.

Utilizing his tentacles for speed, Taehyung brings them back to the tops of the roofs and in the direction of Taekwoon’s house. (He remembers it, isolated, and the path comes naturally.) After every building Taehyung looks down at Jungkook, lips tight. “Don’t ghouls have accelerated healing?” he murmurs, because Jungkook’s blood is hot on his hands and he wants to run them under cold water.

Taehyung stops when a helicopter flies overhead — one for a local news channel, a white stripe on its tail. He automatically ducks behind an air vent, his tentacles once again creating a shield around the two ghouls in case something evil comes by.

“Tae, your RC cells—” Jungkook’s voice is weak. His eyes, his beautiful eyes— His grasp on Taehyung’s coat tightens. “So you’re really a ghoul, huh.”

Taehyung wants to laugh. Wants to cry, but he nods. Even when Jungkook is losing the light in his eyes, that’s what he’s decided to focus on. “I’m still Taehyung, too. Human, ghoul, confused college kid,” he says, and the other ghoul’s eyes threaten to fall shut. “Jungkook, stay with me. Keep your eyes on me, okay? Stay with me.” Taehyung is afraid that Jungkook won’t open his eyes again, afraid that Jungkook could die in his arms, afraid that there’s nothing he can do to save him. “I’m right here.”

“I’m starving,” Jungkook whispers, “and sleepy.”

“Jungkook, can you hear me?” Taehyung holds his palm to Jungkook’s cheek and rubs his cheekbone delicately with his thumb. “Your wings are beautiful. Like stars in the night sky. Has anyone told you that?”

“No,” chuckles Jungkook, expression pained. “You must be out of your mind.”

“I could be an alien,” Taehyung says, desperate. Jungkook doesn’t respond, only sighs, grip loosening, wings dissipating. “No, Jungkook—” Taehyung bites his lip, and then gets an idea. A horrible idea, actually, but it’s the only one he has that could potentially save Jungkook.

Taehyung undoes his coat and pulls his shoulder free. The bare skin is exposed, and he urges Jungkook, “Here.” He feels like he’s treating the ghoul as a bloodthirsty vampire, but what else is there he can do?

Jungkook’s pupils focus blearily, and he runs his tongue across his bottom lip. With Taehyung’s help he sits up, his mouth at the crook of Taehyung’s neck, breath coming out as hot puffs. After a long break of silence Jungkook murmurs, “Sorry, Tae,” before pressing his teeth into the skin.

It fucking hurts. It’s not like a vampire bite, where the fangs draw a few vials of blood and that’s the end of it. The bite of a ghoul is a bite that tears off flesh, leaves Taehyung feeling raw, stinging and bleeding all over. The pain is unimaginable, excruciating, horrifying. Taehyung muffles his scream into his fist, hopes that this heals quickly. Hopes that this helps Jungkook, too.

When Jungkook pulls away his lips come away red, and he swallows the remnants of Taehyung’s offering. His grip returns to Taehyung’s shirt. “Thanks,” he says. “I... think I can walk now.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “I remember the way,” he proclaims. “You’re more injured than I am. I can carry you just fine.”

“Put away your weapon, then. We’ll be better off walking through the woods on foot.” Taehyung raises his eyebrow at this, but Jungkook smiles at him and says, “Scenic route.”

So they take the scenic route, where Jungkook talks quietly to Taehyung as they head into the forest. Taehyung listens, for once, and talks very little — the dull ache at his shoulder hurts, but it’s bearable. The feeling, though, seems to hurt less than his nightmares, and he wonders why.

—

When the door opens Taehyung sees two male figures, both tall and sharing similar expressions of relief when Jungkook says cheekily, “Good evening.” One has a pretty face but pale skin, like he hasn’t seen sunlight for a year, and the other has an ember and charcoal look to him, fiery red on top and winged eyeliner that could cut a man. Taehyung and Jungkook get led in, remove their coats and masks, and immediately Jungkook’s wounds are tended to by the pale ghoul on the floor. He briefly mentions that the other ghouls are on their way back, and Taehyung sits at the end of the couch and waits patiently for his turn.

“You’re going to be in so much fucking trouble,” huffs the ghoul. He has messy hair and large eyes, a frown set on his face as he yanks Jungkook’s shirt over his head. The gash on his chest is closing, ever so slowly, which means Jungkook is healing. (Taehyung lets out a sigh and feels the world lift from his shoulders.) The ghoul fusses, “What the hell were you thinking? _Were_ you even thinking? Ugh, I can practically see your ribs.”

Jungkook laughs, and it’s a delightful sound. “Stop, hyung, your nagging is gonna make me bleed more,” he says, shuddering when the other ghoul brings a cloth to his torso to wipe away the blood. “Be more like Wonshik hyung. He’s not even saying anything.”

From another room, a deep voice yells, “I’m saving it, kid! I’ll bark at you when you’re not a literal bloody mess.” The redheaded ghoul emerges with two mugs in his hands, placing them on the table and dropping onto the other end of the couch. “Here’s some coffee, ya punks. Bottom’s up.” He turns on the TV and lounges back, as if there aren’t two blood-soaked ghouls presently in his living room.

“Back to what _I_ was saying,” the other ghoul drawls, rolling his eyes. He gets most of the blood off Jungkook’s chest and moves to his arms, which are littered with small cuts. “I decide to come out of my room today, expect the guys to be here to welcome me back to the outside world, and obviously that doesn’t happen. First Hakyeon hyung gets kidnapped, and then you little shits make a mess by going off on your own. We get stuck watching the house while everyone else runs to the CCG. Unbelievable.”

“I don’t miss that voice,” mutters the redheaded ghoul.

The pretty ghoul scoots over and punches the redhead’s leg. “Dickhole.” He turns to Taehyung and smiles, dimples showing. “Also, hello. You haven’t met me before. I’m spent most of winter mourning my girlfriend’s death, but I swear I’m over it.” He sticks out his free hand, and Taehyung shakes it. “Lee Hongbin.”

The redheaded ghoul pipes, “My name’s Wonshik,” and nods at Taehyung. “Nice to meet ya.”

“Kim Taehyung,” is the boy’s response, taken aback by the two ghouls with odd personalities, and he’s suddenly very conscious of how much of a mess he is right now. He wipes the sides of his face out of habit, but he’s sure it doesn’t do much anyway. “Uh, I’m twenty, I like rollercoasters, and I’m in college. I work at Cypher, with Seokjin hyung and Jungkook, too.”

“Hey, you must be special!” Hongbin gushes. “Seokjin hyung doesn’t let just anyone work at his place. It took _forever_ for him to accept Jaehwan a few years back, and that was a huge tussle. Jaehwan lasted less than a month before jumping ship.”

“I—” Taehyung pauses. He and Jungkook share a look, and Jungkook shrugs. “Y-Yeah. Special.”

“I’ve been out of the loop. Good thing they got Hakyeon hyung back — he has _all_ the gossip.” Hongbin finishes cleaning off the blood on Jungkook and, after some thought, brings out rolls of bandages to cover Jungkook’s wounds. Sure, he’ll heal, but infections are nasty. “Did you visit your brother recently, Jungkook? I haven’t come by in forever.”

“You have a brother?” Taehyung says, surprised.

“Had,” corrects Jungkook. “He died. It was a few years after my parents’ death, when I was younger.” He smiles to himself, faraway. “That was a long time ago.”

“There’s a grave for him in the forest. Jungkook and Yoongi made it after he died, and we try to visit it every so often,” elaborates Hongbin. He turns to the TV, frowns, and swats at Wonshik’s knee. “Change the channel. I don’t like this show.”

Wonshik rolls his eyes. “Bossy.”

“Lazyass,” retorts Hongbin. Wonshik petulantly switches the channel. “I need to get more bandages. Be right back.” He shuffles out of the room, humming, wiping his sullied hands on his pants.

Touching Jungkook’s shoulder Taehyung asks lowly, “What was his name? Your brother.”

After a moment of deliberation, Jungkook awkwardly rubs his arm and says, “Jungmin. He was a lot bigger than me. Older, taller, stronger.”

Taehyung is glad Jungkook remembers him fondly. “Do you have any stories? I wanna hear about the rebelliousness of a small Jungkook,” he says. “Jungmin hyung must’ve had a hard time dealing with you.”

Jungkook’s cheeks go red as he defends, “I wasn’t rebellious!”

“You have, like, twelve piercings and dyed hair, Jungkook. Anyone like that _has_ to have gone through a _phase_.”

Snorting, Jungkook ducks his head and admits shyly, “I almost stole a puppy once, back in primary school.” He grins. “But I swear that was on accident.”

“Tell me about it,” Taehyung says, so Jungkook does.

A few minutes later Hongbin returns with more bandages, armfuls of them, and pauses before the couch. He watches Jungkook and Taehyung talk, laughing, like they’re sharing secrets, like the glints in their eyes mean more than what they let on. “We’re ruining a moment,” he sighs, nudging Wonshik. “Is this what it feels like to be around Taekwoon hyung and Sanghyuk?”

“Yeah, and the moment can suck it,” Wonshik says.

Hongbin intervenes between Taehyung and Jungkook, sitting beside Taehyung to get to his injuries. The two young males pause their conversation while Hongbin lifts Taehyung’s shirt off his head, like he’d done with Jungkook. Although the damage isn’t as major as Jungkook’s Taehyung is still wrecked, with less blood and more bruises. If Hongbin notices the healing bite mark at the junction of his shoulder, he says nothing of it.

When Hongbin pokes at a purpling spot on Taehyung’s belly Taehyung winces. “Hurts?” he asks tentatively, and Taehyung nods. “Ha, this is nothing! My whole arm got cut off three— four years ago. Regenerating is not as fun as it seems, I’ll have you know.” He looks Taehyung over, applying ointment and watching Taehyung hiss. “You don’t look like you get hurt too often. Jungkook dealt with first-aid just fine, but you’re super sensitive.”

“Taehyung is a fragile flower,” Jungkook says. “Like the one you keep pressed in between the pages of a novel to preserve it.”

Wonshik, Hongbin, _and_ Taehyung stare at the young ghoul. “Wow, Jungkook,” Hongbin says, clapping slowly. “You’re _such_ a grown up. I never would have believed anyone if they told me you had the capacity to say something like that. Are you sure you didn’t find that on the back of a bottlecap?”

Jungkook wrinkles his nose. “Shut up, hyung,” he mutters. Hongbin chuckles and returns to treating Taehyung.

The mood is lighter than it had been when they’d first arrived. Taehyung feels welcome here, with his shirt off and the TV playing Running Man and hot coffee at the table. Hongbin makes small talk as he patches his cuts and bruises, mostly about himself but not delving in too deep. Wonshik is chatty, too, and Taehyung realizes he speaks gruffly but with a lot of positive charm. Jungkook constantly checks back whenever Taehyung hisses from the antiseptic; Taehyung makes sure to show that he’s fine, he’s okay, with a smile and a wave. Hongbin gives him a reassuring thumbs-up when he’s all done.

Around half an hour later there’s a bang at the front door and in come four tall figures — one is noticeably limping, the tallest has blood splattered all over his white coat, but all of them are standing by themselves, no support required. With bronze skin and scratches along his neck, the only one without a mask has his hair clinging together from moisture, but he’s smiling widely. The others wear masks, all different designs and colors. One is constructed like the muzzle of a dog — a German shepherd, perhaps. The tall one has a dark red mask that resembles the popular hero Spiderman, with white lines as webs and patches where the eyes can see through. The strangest mask that’s depicted is like an anime character — big, sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks. The last one has a lion mask on, a mixture of golds and blacks, that covers his entire face, canine teeth protruding outwards.

“Welcome home!” shouts Hongbin, arms shooting up. “Close the door, you’re letting in a draft.”

The four come inside and notice Jungkook and Taehyung as well. The ones Taehyung doesn’t know say their introductions while stripping out of their ruined garments. Taehyung recognizes Taekwoon under the lion mask, noticeably more flustered than he’d seen him a few weeks ago, and Seokjin under the anime mask, the most frustrated he’s seen him... ever. Hakyeon, maskless, is the one they’d gone to retrieve. When the two others unmask themselves, the German shepherd and Spiderman are Jaehwan and Sanghyuk, respectively. Jaehwan looks strangely familiar, large nose and full lips, while Sanghyuk seems like he’s still in high school, still growing with a juvenile appeal.

“Coffee and medical treatment, please,” Jaehwan requests, struggling to get his arms out of the sleeves of his shirt. Wonshik gets back up and goes to the kitchen, coming in and out with more mugs of coffee to give. “Also, Hongbin, that wasn’t a very warm welcome. I don’t see you for _twenty years_ —”

“A couple months at most, you drama queen,” retorts Hongbin. “Nice to see you bastards back in one piece.” When Taekwoon peels off his jeans and gestures to his leg, Hongbin makes a halfhearted noise of disappointment. “Spoke too soon.”

Taekwoon makes a quiet, pained sound. His left foot is gone, cut right off where the bones meet at the ankle, but it’s slowly regenerating. The skin is repairing itself, and the missing bones are forming once more. Hongbin moves to treat him first, on the couch, Sanghyuk holding Taekwoon’s hand as all his wounds are disinfected. So Sanghyuk, Jaehwan, Hakyeon, and Seokjin wait for their turn, just like Taehyung did.

“Are you going to tell us what happened?” inquires Taehyung. Ever since the other ghouls came in Jungkook hasn’t said a word, eyes glued to the floor. Taehyung is worried that Jungkook is scared of what Seokjin will say to him, when the both of them blatantly disregarded his order to _not_ go off on their own. Taehyung will accept the consequences, if it means Jungkook will look him in the eyes again.

“Later,” Seokjin sighs. Once bare, he doesn’t look especially hurt. Like Taehyung, he has a number of bruises along his torso and that seems to be all. “Let’s settle down first.”

Taehyung wrings his hands together. “Are you... angry at us?”

Sanghyuk and Jaehwan laugh, like it’s some kind of joke. “Fucking furious!” Sanghyuk proclaims cheerily. Taekwoon squeezes his hand particularly hard, but Sanghyuk goes on undeterred, “Well, I mean, Seokjin hyung was ranting about your carelessness the entire way to the CCG building. So, what I gathered was he’s fucking furious.”

“Kids these days,” hums Jaehwan. He sips at his coffee, letting his tongue press against the back of his teeth. “Bleh, too much coffee, not enough blood. I’m aghast, Wonshik. Absolutely appalled.” Wonshik kicks him.

Seokjin clears his throat, and Taehyung and Jungkook bow their heads. “I’m angry,” he admits. “I’m angry, I’m disappointed, and—” He swiftly pulls his arms around Taehyung and Jungkook, bringing the two of them in for a snug embrace, “—I’m glad you’re safe.”

“My heart,” gasps Hakyeon, placing his hands at that spot on his chest. “I’m glad that I’m safe, too.” (Wonshik kicks him, too.)

Once they’re all treated everyone is in a much better mood. Taehyung gets his chance to talk to the older ghouls properly, and he finds that he likes Sanghyuk a lot, who is close in age with him and tells witty jokes. Sanghyuk even plays some of the videogames Taehyung has, has read a few of the webcomics Taehyung is interested in. Hakyeon has an older style of humor that Taehyung appreciates, and Jaehwan is a complete goof, impersonating characters on the TV with comical expressions. Seokjin and Jaehwan appear the most comfortable with one another, which Taehyung finds surprising since the former is so serious in comparison to the latter. Taekwoon still intimidates Taehyung because he says very little and comes off coldly, but he must mean well.

They all accept Taehyung with open arms. He listens and participates in their conversations, letting Jungkook murmur the origins of their inside jokes in his ear. (“Wonshik hyung secretly adores girl groups, and we like singing the lyrics of pop songs wrong to get him irritated.”) Some time in the night Hongbin takes out food, and Taehyung willingly eats along with the rest of them. Hakyeon jokes that if Taehyung doesn’t finish his plate he’ll be grounded for a month, and Sanghyuk exclaims he’ll gladly take anyone’s leftovers.

Taehyung feels like he’s fitting in somewhere, and that somewhere is another place to call home.


End file.
